


There's No Easy Way To Live Free

by Isis_McGee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, F/M, Gen, Guns, Minor Character(s), Motorcycle Club AU, Motorcycle Gang, Motorcycle club, Motorcycles, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 81,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1441864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis_McGee/pseuds/Isis_McGee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a young man shows up at the garage claiming he’s John Winchester’s son, he’s just in time to get entangled in the Wayward Sons Motorcycle Club’s latest attempts to stay afloat while their president’s in jail on arms trafficking charges. No one’s sure about the direction the club might be forced to move in, but Dean knows he would feel a lot better about it if he trusted the girl who put the idea into Sam’s head and if Cas weren't being even more cagey than normal. Being Sergeant at Arms was easier when he didn't have to keep everyone calm about the fact that they were working with their rival club’s boss and that’d be easier if he was calm about it. Personal lives and work get tangled together and it's hard to decide which one is more dangerous, even if only one has bullets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fortunate Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an accompanying playlist for this here: http://8tracks.com/jdesk13/there-s-no-easy-way-to-live-free

Dean Winchester, like he had been for every major piece of news he’d had in his life from the time he was 13 onward, was elbow deep in grease and engine parts. He’d been under the hood of a ‘65 Ford Mustang, changing the oil while Uncle Bobby was in charge of the garage, when his dad had come rumbling in on his ‘75 Electra Glide without Bill Harvelle behind him; Jo had still run out from the office calling “Daddy!” and Dean remembered the tears that had sprung into her eyes when she saw he wasn't there but the way Ellen had sunk to the ground against the chipping paint of the wall when she realized what that meant was etched even clearer. He’d been replacing the valves on his first bike‒ an ’89 Dyna Convertible he’d put together himself when he was 17, the bike he still rode‒ when Sam had showed up to the garage after school to tell him he’d gotten into Stanford and that he didn’t care if Dad had a problem with him being so far, he was going. He was giving that same bike a tune-up since he had her all apart to finally paint it in club spirit when Sam had called him saying he was coming home without explanation. It was the transmission of an ’01 Grand Prix he’d had to stop fixing to try to piece together his brother when he finally arrived back home, crying but trying not to about the death of his girlfriend. He’d been working on John’s bike, upgrading the guts of it a second time since John’d ripped the AMF parts out of it when he first got it, when he found out the man was going to prison. But he was taking care of the clicking he’d heard in his baby, the only mode of transportation he loved more than that Dyna that’d robbed him of so much energy, when the sandy haired young man who was about to drop a bomb on him wandered into the garage.

“Sweet ride; my dad had a car just like it. 67, yeah?” he asked. Every other mechanic was already at the roadhouse, but Dean would talk to anyone who showed his girl love. 

“It was my old man’s too. No better year for the impala. At least not to me. What can I do for you?”

“I’m actually looking for John Winchester; he around at all?” 

“No, man, you’re out of luck. John hasn't been here in a while and we’re not sure when he’ll be back. If someone recommended him as a mechanic they oughta be able to tell you that anything he can do, so can I. Or somebody here can. When we’re actually open again. What’s your trouble?” Dean could feel the kid’s eyes finally taking in the full picture of him now that he’d stopped stooping under the hood. It wasn't as though many mechanics were incredibly clean cut guys, but Dean was all sweat and grease and tattoos in the stained wife beater he was wearing. 

“You’re in the same club?”

The kid had locked onto the ink on Dean’s left shoulder‒ a red pentagram and sigils superimposed on a knife and gun crossed to line up with its bottom points. It was hard not to notice with it being the only color on Dean’s arm.

“How do you know, John, kid?” Dean was immediately suspicious. Wayward Sons Motorcycle Club had only about four small chapters across the country‒ one in Sioux Fall, South Dakota that Bobby Singer had started when he’d left in the late 80s before coming back to warmer climes in the mid-90s, one in Manning, Colorado, one in New Orleans, and the original, right there in Freedom, Kansas. Dean would have known this kid if he were Wayward. 

“Where is he, if he isn't here?” The guy was visibly trying not to shift on his feet and to look as though he got put through the inquisition any time he was looking for someone. He also didn't look too sure of whether or not he was comfortable talking to anyone with Dean’s tone of voice and clear lack of caring about normal societal mores. 

“Look, if you know the club you should know where John’s at. And if you don’t know the club, I gotta know how you know John before I tell you that. You in a chapter? ‘Cause no offense, but you didn't get taught right if you are.”

“No, I just know he’s in‒”

“You in a different MC?”

“No, I’m‒”

“You lying?” Dean wondered if there was a subtle way he could back up to his tool box and get the colt 1911 he kept in the top drawer. The kid sort of lost it before Dean could move though. 

“No, shit, I’m not lying. Listen, I’m like three days off my mom’s funeral and I’m just looking for John Winchester because as much as the son of a bitch wasn’t around ever, he’s still my father and he should know that my mom’s gone and I don’t have‒” 

“What did you just say?” Dean’s head was reeling. He had one pain in the ass little brother and that was Sammy and John may have been far from a saint and less than honest about a lot of things, but he wasn't sure how he was supposed to take that information. 

“I don’t have any other place to go.” He looked dejected, but his mouth was set stubbornly. No way was he going to show this asshole mechanic who’d just put him through the inquisition how he was barely hanging on. Dean could see it anyway, but at the moment he didn't care. The kid could be the world’s best actor and it wasn't as though he could walk up and assault him to look for another club’s ink. 

“Before that. Who are you?” It was a demand. 

“My name is Adam Milligan. My mother’s name was Kate Milligan and she died last week. John Winchester is the only family I have even though‒”

“Okay, enough. I don’t know who you run with or who put you up to this, but I swear to God‒”

“I’m not lying. Look,” he reached behind him and looked up “I’m just going for my wallet, I swear. I’ve never even touched a gun, let alone carried one.” He knew enough about the club to know that was Dean’s worry. Dean stared down at the wrench in his hand. He hadn’t realized he’d shifted his grip on it to be held like a weapon. The kid‒ Adam, whoever‒ was pulling something out of the beat up brown wallet he’d taken out of his back pocket. It was a picture folded in half. A boy, clearly a twelve or thirteen year old version of the man standing in front of him, was giving a small smile for the camera and a pretty blonde woman had her arm around him and a bigger smile on her face. When he unfolded the photo, there was John. Younger, but with a smile that reached his eyes and his arm was thrown over the boy’s shoulder, hand brushing the sleeve of the woman’s shirt. 

“It was only the second time I met him but he took us fishing. He’d attached some busted old sidecar to this beautiful full dressed bike he had. It was great. Didn’t see him for a while after that, but it was nice enough.”

Dean hadn't said anything yet. He’d forged enough documents that needed doctored photos to tell this one was real. Plus, looking from the picture to the man standing in front of him he could see some of the resemblance. Maybe around the mouth, if he squinted. Must have taken after his mom. But people said the same thing about him. Didn't mean John wasn't his father. And he remembered the sidecar that John used to attach to his bike when he both boys wanted to go for a ride with him; it had seen better days when Sam was younger, so he was sure it was even more busted by the time the picture in his hands had been taken. 

“First, I’m sorry about your mom.” Adam nodded a little at the acknowledgement. Dean knew that look and he wasn’t going to say anything else about it. “But you gotta understand, you can’t just come here to his shop and say John Winchester is your dad.”

“Why not?” 

Dean finally threw the wrench the few feet into the open top of his toolbox with a shrug. He’d organize it tomorrow. He used the now empty hand to point upwards. “See the name over the garage doors?” He gave the younger man a moment to read the ‘Winchester & Sons’ emblazoned in black. When Adam nodded and returned his gaze to Dean, the greasy man was wiping his hand on his jeans, attempting to alleviate some of the filth before he held it out to him. “Well, I’m part of the second half of that. Name’s Dean Winchester. Apparently I’m your oldest brother.” 

Adam took the outstretched hand but it was on instinct. He was just staring at Dean. 

“I have a brother?”

“Brothers, actually, but yeah.” Adam had let his hand fall to his side. He still hadn't stopped staring though. “I’m just as surprised as you, kid.” Dean walked to the front of the impala and closed the hood. He’d almost been finished, but he had bigger things to worry about now; she’d wait and be right there for him in the morning. 

“Why wouldn’t he have told me?” Dean cocked his head and really looked at the younger man before he responded.

“You and your mom lived normal, right? Good school, played high school football‒”

“Baseball.”

“Baseball,” Dean amended before continuing. “You even went to college, yeah?”

“University of Wisconsin, yeah. What’s that got‒”

“I dropped out of high school as soon as I was of age. I've worked here since before then and I joined the club as soon as I possibly could. I’ve been to jail four different times, not counting juvie, and nearly went to prison once or twice. Sam, despite how clean cut he is next to me, learned to hotwire a car at 14. On his own. We aren’t people John would have wanted his normal son to meet. But fortunately for you, John doesn’t get a say now, because you just showed up instead of calling.” While explaining that, Dean had grabbed his cut off the back of his tool box and dug the keys to his bike out of the pocket. 

“I did call,” Adam explained. “I even called here after John’s cell never worked and some guy told me John wasn’t here and no, he wasn’t taking a message. He also called me an idiot, I think.” Dean laughed at that while he was pulling the last garage door down and locking it up. Adam hadn’t made any move to go towards his car or anything and Dean suddenly wondered about his intelligence. College educations weren’t much in his eyes.

“Why you still standin’ there, kid? You see me locking up.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Where’s the nearest hotel or whatever? I mean, this town doesn’t‒”

“No wonder Bobby called you an idiot. You said you didn’t have any other place to go, right?” Adam nodded and it looked like he was going to say something else when Dean went on. “I don’t need more of an explanation than that right now. I’m not gonna kick you to some skeevy motel, which is all you’re gonna find in Freedom. We might not be a one stoplight town but we don’t get a lot of outsiders. Unless you drive the forty miles to Lawrence. Plus, you don’t wanna meet your other brother?”

“You don’t have to put me up, man. I don’t wanna intrude on your life or anything.” Dean could tell he meant it, but he also knew how much it was a lie. How could anyone find out that they had triple the family they had thought left and not want to find out about them? He also didn’t want to let the kid get away; he was blood, even if he wasn’t family yet, and that meant something. He knew Sam would feel the same.

“Dad’d kill me if he knew I met you and didn’t put you up. So quit protesting and follow me, alright? I’m not taking you that far anyway.” He finally slipped his cut on and hauled his leg over his bike. He didn’t even wait to see if Adam walked to his car. If the guy was dumb enough to not take this, then Dean would leave him, damn the consequences when John found out. But sure enough, he heard Adam’s car sputter on. Thinking that no son of John Winchester should have a car that sounded like that, Dean started up his bike, feeling the familiar power course through the machine into the handlebars. No matter how often he brought a bike to life under him, it was one of the things he loved about life‒ right up there with a great burger and home-style pie. He pulled out of the garage hoping the kid would keep up.

He could, and in less than ten minutes, they were pulling into what was clearly a bar that had seen some better days. Generously called a dive, usually referred to as run down, the place was Dean’s third home after his actual place and the garage. While it was a legitimate business, open to the public, it was common knowledge in Freedom that Harvelle’s Roadhouse was Wayward Sons stomping grounds and the small building twenty feet to the east of it, that looked about ten years newer than the rest of the building (simply because Ellen refused to let the club pay for renovations to her bar) was the official clubhouse. Dean scanned the line of bikes parked in front when he pulled up the end of it; the only two people that didn’t seem to be there were Gordon and the prospect. Gordon had probably dragged Garth somewhere to put him to work; he vaguely remembered Gordon saying something about needing to check a shipment of supplies he needed for the latest house his crew was working on. He hoped most of the club being there meant there would be enough going on to distract people while he grilled Bobby for information and broke the out-of-left-field news to Sam. In all reality, knowing the club, it would mean that there were more people he’d have to explain the kid’s presence to. Fortunately, it looked like there might be enough non-club customers in Ellen’s place for his presence not to matter. 

“You sure I’m welcome here?” Adam had gotten out of his car and headed up to Dean. He shifted on his feet and glanced back the car. Dean finally noticed the bags in the backseat. The kid was driving around with his life in his backseat and Dean felt a stab of sympathy lance through him. Sam had half-way done the same thing when he left for Stanford. When Ash had shown up with a nomad patch on his back, he’d had only one bag strapped to his bike. 

“It’s open to the public. And technically, you’re a founder’s kid, so the club has to let you be here even if it were an exclusive place. Just don’t look so nervous. Eat some food, have a beer. It’s just a motorcycle club, we’re not serial killers. And I’m way scarier than any of them in there,” Dean smirked at him. He wasn’t going to tell the kid that was only true because Gordon was absent. He loved Gordon as much as he did every member of his club, and he specifically had been like a brother for years, but the man could be terrifying when he wanted to be. He was a good man, just a little rigid in his beliefs on occasion. And willing to let you know that, by any means necessary. It made him a good member. 

“Okay.” He sounded at least a little reassured and even if he wasn’t, he wasn’t going to punk out so he followed Dean through the door and entered the Roadhouse.

“Hey, handsome,” Dean heard upon entrance. “You stopping to see me or you heading straight back to the war room?” Pamela couldn’t help but flirt with almost every club member when they came in, but it was especially perky with Dean and Sam. She noticed Adam and continued. “You bring me jailbait?”  
Adam seemed taken aback momentarily before Dean stepped in. “Down girl,” he laid a kiss on her cheek to temper the imperative. As he did he glanced around the room, trying to find Bobby or Sam, but they both must have been in what Pamela had dubbed “the war room.” Rufus was at the bar in conversation with Ellen, drinking Johnnie Walker no doubt judging by the glass in his hand, and Ash and Cas seemed to be playing pool, calculating each angle perfectly. Dean was a hell of a pool player, but those two both played like machines all about the numbers. It was impressive unless they were kicking your ass. There were more than a couple people spread out at tables around the place so Adam being there wouldn’t seem unusual. “Bobby and Sam in the clubhouse?”

Pamela nodded with an “mmhmm” and Dean moved past her to head there.

“Tell Ellen to put whatever he wants on my tab, alright?” When she gave another nod without so much as a question in her eye, Dean replied with a thank you before addressing Adam. “I swear I’m not throwing you to the wolves, kid, just gotta talk to some people.” 

“Okay. Thanks, Dean,” he responded, sliding into a booth. Dean didn’t bother to nod or anything, just walked toward the back door. He was stopped part of the way there by almost bodily running into someone. “Jesus, Jo, watch where you’re going.”

“Who’s the guy? Didn’t know he was your type, Winchester,” she said, ignoring both his words and their tone. When he didn’t answer she went on. “Seriously. Prospect?”

That was an idea. Maybe. He had to get this shit sorted out with Sam and Bobby and eventually he’d have to talk to his dad, but it might give the kid somewhere to be. It also depended on what Adam wanted as well. Just because he didn’t have any other place to go it didn’t mean he wanted to throw his life into an outlaw motorcycle club. He didn’t voice those thoughts out loud, though, saying “I’ll explain later, promise.” He knew Jo might not take his promises too seriously, but it was all he wanted to share at the moment. He glanced back at Jo with a small smile to try to convey that his closed-mouth wasn’t about her specifically. With a glance at her wrist, he added, “The new ink looks good, by the way.” Before he turned again he thought he saw a faint blush. After years of basically being the club’s collective daughter, Jo didn’t color at many compliments, but sometimes Dean thought he was lucky Ellen hadn’t killed him yet with the look Jo would sometimes get at his.

When he entered the clubhouse, Bobby was at his interim spot at the head of the table; Dean had gotten used to seeing him there rather than John for the most part in the past few months but Bobby never really looked as comfortable as he did when he was to the right of the Winchester patriarch. He had a beer in one hand and an inventory book in front of him, adding items from the multiple lists he kept on his person. Sam definitely wasn’t a distraction that the other members would be if Bobby were out in the bar. He was to Bobby’s left, a thick book of law that would have bored Dean to tears open on the table in front of him. He was so engrossed he barely looked up at Dean’s entrance but Bobby lifted his head, eager to not be looking at his salvage yard info. 

“Get the impala fixed?” he asked as a greeting. 

“Mostly. You ever hear my dad mention anyone named Milligan?” Dean responded. At that, Sam looked up with a slight frown. Bobby looked like he thinking hard about how to respond and Dean continued. “In particular a Kate Milligan?”

“Might be a name he mentioned a long time ago. Sounds like it might be the name of some woman he met while he was up to see me in Sioux Falls.”

“Wouldn’t be the first woman to come looking for him,” Sam spoke up with a shrug, turning his eyes back to his textbook. Going to law school was difficult as an outlaw biker who had to commute 40 miles one way for every class; Dean wasn’t sure how many classes Sam needed to take still. He’d taken a while off after his return from Stanford before going back to actually finish his degree and even longer before applying to Kansas’ law school. 

“She’s not the one looking for him. Her son is.” Sam’s head shot back up and Bobby’s eyes goggled. Dean gave a tight lipped smile. “Yeah.”

“For what? Is he Dad’s? Do we have a brother?” Sam demanded in a rush.

“Aw, hell,” Bobby muttered. 

“Did you know, Bobby?” At Dean’s question, Bobby nodded.

“Your old man thought it’d be too complicated if he let you know. Don’t ask me why, I tried to tell him otherwise, but it was his decision and he asked me to keep that confidence.” He had the tone of voice that told Dean exactly how much he’d hated doing so in this instance and he wanted to be angry that Bobby had done so, but he couldn’t help but think of all the times he’d limped to Bobby’s when he was learning to ride, not wanting to tell his dad he dumped his bike again. Dean suspected Bobby might have been the only one who’d known Sam applied anywhere other than Kansas senior year of high school. Bobby Singer was stuck being the secret keeper for the Winchester men and probably would be for the rest of his life whether he liked it or not.

“Not your fault, Bobby,” Sam said, voicing Dean’s thoughts. Bobby’s lack of blame was pushed aside for his swirl of emotions at the idea of suddenly having a second brother. “Holy shit. Is he here?”

“Yeah. Just wanted confirmation before I introduced you to your little brother, Sammy,” Dean smirked. Sam almost looked offended at the idea that he wasn’t the youngest before he cracked a smile.

“You think he’s too old for me to teach him how pick a lock like you did me?”

“Considering I taught you when you were about 9 and this kid’s 20 at the youngest, yeah, I’d say so.”

“John’d have your head if you two corrupt this kid, you know,” Bobby admonished. Sam was standing up, ready to meet another sibling. “Why is he here? Sudden urge to meet you two idjits?”

The smile fell from Dean’s face before he answered. “His mom passed last week apparently. Said he doesn’t have any place to go. Had no idea he had brothers. Poor kid was just looking for John Winchester‒”

“As though him being around was gonna help a grieving kid,” Sam scoffed. Despite the mending of fences that had happened between John Winchester and the youngest son bearing his name, there were times when bitterness would come out, vented to Dean away from the presence of the other. Although, Dean wasn’t sure where that specific gripe came from. He ignored it though.

“I’m just saying, we might corrupt him without meaning to. But, c’mon, Bobby, we’re not that bad now.” With a raised eyebrow, Sam cut in again.

“I’m definitely not that bad,” he smiled so that his dimples showed. The innocent act was partly diminished when he shrugged his cut on, catching his sleeve and showing off the full color serpent tattooed on his right bicep. You could fake innocence with a portrait of blind justice‒ the ink visible in his grey t-shirt‒, but not with a snake you’d gotten as a sign of rebellion from your father at 16. 

“Yeah, you’re a perfect angel, Sam. Just because your brother’s worse, it don’t make you good.” Bobby shook his head but still smiled. He’d half raised them after all; he couldn’t be that mad at how they turned out. “Get outta here, and go take care of that kid. John ain’t here to take responsibility for him. Leave me in peace. I still gotta look at the books that Ash finished up yesterday.”  


With a nod to Bobby, Sam joined his brother at the doorway and they headed back to the main building of the roadhouse. 

“He just showed up?” Sam asked. Dean nodded and he continued. “You sure he’s our brother? Like, really sure? This isn’t some sort of trick? I mean, does he have ink? Is he wearing‒”

“Sam, I’m not an idiot. I’ve been in this club a bit longer than you and I’m sergeant of arms, I think I know how to tell a rival club. He’s got a picture of him and Dad and his mom in his wallet and it sure doesn’t look faked. And you heard Bobby.”

“I just know how you are, Dean,” was all Sam said in response. By his tone, it was clear he didn’t want to piss his brother off. 

“Yeah, well, have a little faith in me,” as he said this, they were passing the pool tables and Dean heard Cas snort. He wasn’t going to dignify it with acknowledgement. Adam was working on a bottle of El Sol and a bacon cheeseburger and Dean liked the kid even more already. Jo was at the table, setting a bottle of ketchup down and asking if he needed anything else.

“I’m good, thanks though, Jo,” Adam smiled almost shyly at her. She smiled back and when she turned Dean saw that Adam’s eyes hovered around the strip of skin showing between Jo’s tight black top and her jeans. Sam noticed too and laughed a little.

“Yeah, he’s definitely related to you.”

Dean slid into the booth across from Adam. “Watch yourself, Ellen’ll kill you if you make a move on Jo. Unless she does it herself. Saw her put a guy on his ass in two seconds for grabbing her arm one time.” Adam looked sufficiently threatened and Dean could feel Sam’s judgment next to him. “Adam Milligan‒”

“Sam Winchester,” Sam interrupted, sticking a hand across the table. Adam wiped his hand on his jeans and shook Sam’s. “Sorry to hear about your mom. You know you’re welcome to stay around here as long as you need.” Sam was much better at the sympathy thing than Dean. Adam looked grateful, but unwilling to really talk about it. He took a swig of his beer.

“So, now that we’ve established that we all share a father, can you tell me where he’s at?” It wasn’t until that moment that Dean realized he hadn’t actually explained that and from the look Sam shot him, it had been dumb of him. Whatever, he’d been dealing with a lot of information at the moment. 

“Leavenworth, Kansas.”

Adam looked nonplussed and Sam decided he’d explain if his older brother was just going to be a jerk.  


“Federal prison there. He’s serving some time on an arms trafficking charge. We’re working on an appeal. Kind of.”

“How long is his sentence?”

“He was sentenced to six years. He’s been in almost a year. We think with an appeal that goes well we can get him out of there in six months with parole.” Sam didn’t want to get into details about how they were running out of money for their lawyer who Sam didn’t think was that great to begin with. Mostly he was kicking his own ass for not having passed the bar already so he could get John out. But he was years away from that. So unless they could go back in time, they needed money more than anything. Adam didn’t need to hear that though. 

“Shit,” Adam breathed. 

“We can take you to see him next weekend. Leavenworth isn’t that far away. Guards already expect him to have visitors next Friday.”

“We won’t be like chaperones or anything, that’s not what Sammy meant,” Dean said before Adam could respond. “But we’ll take you there, give you some time, if that’s what you want. But we’re not going until you let me fix that car. Sounds like hell, man.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Adam protested around a French fry. Dean just raised his eyebrows at him. “Okay, it’s bad. I haven’t had time to get it looked at. Been a little busy.” There was an edge to it, but only slight.

“You gonna be comfortable staying here for a while?”

“You mean, like here in Freedom or here? In a bar?” Adam asked.

“There’s a spare room in the second story of the clubhouse. Members can crash there if they need to,” Dean explained. “Means I’m gonna tell Ellen you’ll pitch in here and maybe bus some tables, though.” 

“That’s fine. She wouldn’t mind me staying here?” Adam followed Dean’s glance to the bar and saw Ellen give him and Sam a little nod. She sent a small smile to Adam as well and it put him at ease. 

“She won’t mind at all. You’ll probably be the best guest she’s had crash in the place actually,” Sam assured him. Adam took the last bite of his burger and another swig of his nearly empty beer. “You play pool at all?”

“A little. I won’t play for money, but I’ll play,” he said. Sam’s mouth widened into a smile.

“I’m not gonna try to shark my own brother.”

“You tried to sandbag me when you were 15, you little shit,” Dean shot at him. “Which was dumb because I taught you how to play.”

“Which is why Cas and Ash both kick my ass every time,” Sam retorted. “Come on, kid, let’s shoot some and Dean can go be the adult and tell Ellen the situation. You want another beer?”

“Sure,” Adam answered and Sam got up. Dean followed him out of the booth and Adam did as well after digging in his pocket for some bills. “This is not how I expected this day to go at all.”

Dean laughed a little, “You’re telling me.” As he watched Sam jerk his head toward the pool tables with a couple beers in his hand and he walked up to the bar to have a conversation with Ellen he never would have thought of, Dean wondered what the hell else was in store for him and his brothers. He hoped the club would be able to take it, whatever it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few townships in Kansas named Freedom, but this isn’t them. This is a purely fictional town that is about where Winchester, KS is. Leavenworth is indeed a real prison that’s an hour away or so


	2. Gold Dust Woman

Ellen hadn’t asked any questions and she’d agreed not to say a thing to anyone else about who Adam really was before the youngest of John Winchester’s sons introduced himself to her.

“Thank you for letting me stay here, ma’am,” he’d said with a nod and won her over with the deferential treatment. Sam had shown Adam to the room, carrying up one of the bags that had been in his car. Ellen had told them to get him settled as though he were there for the long haul; no one else was using the place and she wanted to keep him around if she could get him to bus tables. Dean had come up behind them and dropped the third bag on the floor after pausing to thank Ellen himself. “Is it out of line if I say that she’s pretty hot for a woman old enough to be my mom?” 

Sam laughed out loud. “I think Ellen was actually mine and Dean’s first crush when we were both little so not really.”

“Man, I was terrified of Bill for a while because of that,” Dean laughed too. Sam nodded with a grin and they saw that the corner of Adam’s mouth was turned up slightly. “And yeah, she’s still pretty hot,” Dean shrugged.

“I tell Jo you said that and she’ll lose that soft spot for you real quick.”

“You tell Jo I said that and I’m gonna find your soft spot with a fist, little brother,” Dean retorted. Adam looked like he was about ask so Dean cut him off. “Don’t not hit on Jo on my account, kid, but I told you before‒”

“I’ll get my ass kicked, got it,” Adam said.

“We’ll be in and out of here all week, so you feel free to tell me when you wanna get your ass kicked at pool again, okay?” Sam told him. At Adam’s half laughing scoff, Sam went on. “We’ll go see John mext Friday. We’ll probably have to explain to the club who you are Saturday though. Nobody else is using the room, but it’s still club property and they’ve got the right to know why we’re letting someone they think is a stranger crash here. That gonna bother you?”

“No, that seems fair. I told you, I don’t want to intrude at all. You need me gone‒”

“No one’s gonna need you gone. Do you ride at all?” When Dean asked that question, Sam’s eyebrows rose imperceptibly. It didn’t seem like simply a way to end the discussion of Adam leaving. 

“I know how, yeah. It’s hard not to want to when you’re twelve and a dad you never met shows up on a bike like every badass in the movies you grew up watching.”

“You have one?”

“Sold it when my mom got sick. A piece of shit Yamaha that I got cheap off a friend’s brother in high school. I miss riding, but I don’t miss that bike.” 

“Thank God you hadn’t shown up on a damn Yamaha,” Dean said. Adam’s lips twitched as he held back from rolling his eyes. It was a moot point. Sam tossed him the keys to the room.

“Get settled, come back down if you want, or hang out; not gonna begrudge you if you want some time to process stuff,” he said. At that, Dean rolled his eyes, but he tried to do so covertly, because Adam actually seemed to appreciate it. “Bathroom’s through there, obviously,” he said pointing to the open door. “You want help unpacking or anything?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks, Sam. You know you guys don’t have to do this. I mean, I’m really sorry ‒”

“Last time you apologize, alright? Get some rest. We’ll grill you for all your secrets tomorrow,” Sam told him. Adam nodded and the Winchesters took that as enough of a good night so they turned to go. It was 8:30 on a Tuesday and no one was going to be in the Roadhouse so they’d stay there a while. Drink a beer, figure out what they were actually going to do in the long run. 

“Poor kid,” Sam said as they descended into the clubhouse. Dean inclined his head. “After I lost Jess and had to leave school, at least I had you and dad. And the club. This kid just got thrust on some people he doesn’t know. And people he doesn’t know who don’t exactly fit the bill of normal.”

“It could have been worse, he could have shown up in the middle of deal time. He could be sleeping over crates of unregulated guns.”

“Yeah, well if he’s here long, he’s gonna be anyway. We gotta move something soon, Dean. We’re surviving but Daniels’ fees are killing us if we’re trying to get an appeal together. I like Mara and all but she isn’t cheap.”

“I know, Sam‒”

“And I’m doing all I can to gather the information for it on my own, but I’m not a lawyer yet. I won’t be in time to do anything for dad.”

“I know, Sam,” Dean repeated. His brother was right; they had to find some way to get some cash coming in. More than they were doing at the garage. The donations the rest of the club were giving to fund John’s appeal, as well as appeals for Jim Murphy and Caleb Lincoln, were incredibly helpful, but they couldn’t expect them to give more than they could, and there was only so much dues money they could allot for that cause. 

“If Tamara had stayed around after Isaac’s funeral, we would have had to let Mara go.” Sam’s tone bespoke of how cold he knew that statement sounded, but also of how much he needed to say it. 

“But she didn’t. And we lost a brother and a good woman who supported us. We’re down. And we can’t move a shipment right now, because Sheriff Mills is still keeping pretty close tabs on us. It’s really a shame that Bobby had to go and start this thing up with Ellen, ‘cause I think he coulda had a shot at keeping Mills sweet on him and off our backs.”

“Jesus, Dean, that was years ago that they had a thing. Like, right after Bobby’s wife died; you had to be what, 13, 14? I can’t believe you even remember that. They woulda been married by now. And then he’d be fraternizing with the enemy,” Sam laughed at the last statement, showing how ridiculous he thought the phrase was, and Dean cracked a smile too. 

“It woulda kept her off our backs though,” he pointed out, still grinning. Sam shook his head as he slid onto a stool at the bar. Dean followed suit and continued. 

“I’m saying, there’s not a lot we can do in our usual avenues, you know. I know that you know that. I’d rather have us struggle than land more members in jail. I don’t know anyone in the club who wouldn’t. There’s only seven of us, and one prospect.”  


Ellen had handed them a beer a piece without a word and they had raised them in acknowledgement when they caught her eye after she’d returned to the other side of the bar. Rufus had left at some point when Sam and Adam had been shooting pool, but Bobby had emerged from the clubhouse and taken his spot. Whatever he and Ellen were talking about had the both of them smiling and Sam thought it was sweet. It was nice to see them happy when they’d both lost people. Not that both losses hadn’t been in the past, but there had been times when no one had been sure that either of them would get over the deaths of their spouses. Ellen had nearly left, same way Tamara had, right after Bill. Bobby had been the one to convince her not to, even if it had taken nearly twenty years for them to become more than just friends. 

“The club started with seven though, and they obviously did alright,” Sam told Dean. “It’s not like we’re ever gonna be Hells Angels or something, Dean. We might have to risk guys still. I don’t want to, but I also don’t want to think about this club not making any money. I mean, what would Ellen do without us? This bar doesn’t keep her above water without our help.”

“You’re not telling me anything new. But I don’t know what to tell you. We gotta give it time. The Knights of Hell are bound to get caught. And then maybe those fucking ATF agents who’ve been coming around will get out of here. I know we do illegal shit, but we don’t shit where we eat‒ I don’t know why they can’t extend the same courtesy.”

“Yeah, but let’s hope they don’t just bring more cops here. The last thing we need is more ATF or DEA asshole to show up.”

Dean let out a sound of disgust. “You come up with a way to make us some cash and bring it to the club, Sammy. The two of us bitching isn’t doing anything.”

“It’s making me feel a little better, honestly,” Sam shrugged. Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder with a smile. He shook his head and finished his beer. He didn’t say it, but Sam knew just the same that it was making him feel a little better as well. Dean bottled shit up so much that one of these days he was going to have a stroke. He had always been like that, letting any emotions he felt come out in fits of alcoholism and violence.

“You had another reason for asking Adam if he rode, didn’t you?” Sam asked after a moment. He only had a swallow left in his beer and he wondered about the intelligence of having another one. It wasn’t like one of those nights where he could find himself far more intoxicated than he thought and crash in the clubhouse. He’d just nurse that one; Dean didn’t seem inclined to have another one either so Sam might not catch any flack for it. 

“Motorcycles are our lives. Seemed like knowing whether or not that was something we could talk about with him was a good idea.” Sam raised an eyebrow as though he didn’t believe that’s all it was and Dean sighed. “When I ran into Jo earlier she asked if he was a prospect. If he’s gonna stick around, we could ask him. Like I said, we’re down people.”

“He doesn’t have a bike,” Sam pointed out.

“You think we can’t find him enough parts in Bobby’s yard to put one together? I know there’s enough of a softail to rebuild in there. It’s an ‘87, but it’ll clean up with enough love. I thought about taking it for myself, but it might give the kid something to do. Plus, you can’t tell me you don’t wanna be a big brother and help him put together a bike.”

Sam conceded the point. It was definitely something to think about. But they might be getting ahead of themselves. Who knew how John would react to Adam being here. For all he and Dean knew, John could tell them to throw money at the kid to make him go away from this life. And no matter how badly they needed more members even if just for the dues, no matter how much it would hurt them both to have to send their blood away‒ when he was hurting especially‒ Dean wouldn’t go against John’s wishes. Sam wouldn’t in this instance either; John was the kid’s father, after all. And maybe Adam would want no part of the club. 

“You think he’d want in?” Sam wondered.

“No idea. That’s why I asked if he rode, though. It’s not like we gotta figure it out right now.” Dean shrugged and reached into his pocket for his wallet. “I’m beat, man. Been thinkin’ too much today. Go study. I’ll see you at the garage in the morning. You could bring some more of that coffee in‒ we’re runnin’ low.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone you like the flavored shit,” Sam called to him before turning to see his reaction. He put his hands up in a gesture of ‘what the hell?’ and glanced around quickly. Sam laughed at the offended look on his face. “Night, man. Ride safe.”

Dean put a hand up in acknowledgment as he walked out the door. Sam finished his beer and thought that his brother was probably right. He should go study, since he’d been interrupted earlier. Putting some money on the table for the beer, Sam stood up and stretched a little. He didn’t want to go read about estate tax but it was the assignment and he didn’t know when he’d get time to finish it next. He didn’t think Dean would let him shove off work just to finish homework; he was an adult. As he sat in the chair he’d occupied earlier in the clubhouse and flipped the book open, he realized that work was going to come early and he sighed. Like the information revealed during the day, it wasn’t anything he could change though, so he settled in to get through as much of it as possible.

He wasn’t wrong‒ work did come early the next morning. And it continued to do so for the next week. It was a sad statement in the life of a biker that his only reprieve was the one day he got to sleep in because he had to go to class. Even then, it seemed like it took forever to get to next Wednesday when he finally caught a break. He didn’t have any actual work to do until a soccer mom brought in her minivan to have its brakes done and she inevitably dropped into conversation that she was going through a divorce. He was used to getting the midlife crises sufferers hitting on him and used to ignoring it, but he caught Dean share a smirk with Rufus when they noticed. But after that, the day was slow, spent shooting the shit with Dean and Rufus and Cas when he eventually came in to do the paint for some asshole who wanted racing stripes on his Accord. Dean bemoaned the fact that they couldn’t refuse a customer just because what they wanted was stupid and everyone agreed. A standard, albeit shitty, order for Cas was a waste of his talent, but there were only so many people who wanted custom paint jobs in the town and he needed to make money too. He’d done the paint for the entire clubs’s bikes and had gotten a number of commissions while on the road from other bikers begging for a custom design to take back to their local painter, so he never begrudged a customer who just wanted a change of color. Dean got a chance to finish up the work he’d been doing on the impala when Adam had showed up so at five o’clock they all headed out together, Rufus heading home and Sam and Dean and Cas all heading to the roadhouse. 

When they got there, Adam was in conversation with Ash through the window to the kitchen and Ellen was slicing lime wedges behind the bar. There was only one table occupied and Jo was taking the couple’s order with a smile. The three men took seats at the bar and when Ellen finished scraping the limes off the cutting board she approached them.

“Your friend hasn’t had to hardly do a damn thing all day, so I can’t give you a report on whether or not you did good finding him for me, boys,” she said in greeting. It’d been such a long week for both of them, Dean having ridden over to Missouri to ‘help out a friend’ which Sam was sure meant hooking up with some road honey he’d known, and Sam being in charge of the garage while doing case studies, that they hadn’t been there since the night they’d set Adam up. 

“He does seem to be getting along well with Ash though. And I think I heard him call Jo ‘miss,’ which I’m assuming is your fault.” She said this last bit with a rather pointed look at Dean.

“I may have warned him a little. Some men never recover from the lashings of a Harvelle woman, you know. I figure it’s best if he just avoids it.”

“You were never a fan of that strategy.” With that response, Dean just shrugged. Ellen smiled and asked “What are you boys drinking tonight?”

“Just beer, Ellen,” Sam replied for him and his brother. 

“A coke would be fine,” was Cas’ answer. Dean didn’t even roll his eyes. Cas had never risen to his taunts and Sam had reamed him a new one after the first two weeks of knowing the man for digging at him about not drinking. After those two weeks, Dean let it drop. Sam had been the one to bring it up again when he’d seen Cas order a whiskey at some club function. Cas had just raised his eyebrows and told him not to worry, he wasn’t relapsing; he did drink, just not regularly. Dean had found that even stranger but Sam insisted they let it go. When the club had voted on Cas being given full membership, someone had voiced their concern over bringing in someone with such strange habits about alcohol and Sam had let everyone know just how “completely fucking asinine and shallow” of a concern it was when Cas had done so much for the club in his prospect year. That had been the last of it. 

Cas did eye the bottles that Sam and Dean knocked together before drinking from and one hand went to the double black band around his opposite forearm, but neither Winchester noticed. Ellen did, but she’d always had her own suspicions about Cas’ behavior. And it was none of her business. She’d bust the clubs’ asses constantly about the shit they did, but she’d also been around too long to pry or to open her mouth when her opinion wasn’t necessary. Not that the club ever told her something wasn’t her business, but she knew the line between being a club woman and being a club member. She was also a good bartender and let Castiel Novak’s business stay his own.  
Adam nodded in acknowledgement at Sam and Dean when there was a break in the conversation he was having and they responded in kind.

“Who is he?” Cas asked, nothing but curiosity in his voice. His head was on the verge of cocking.

“Friend of ours,” was Dean’s short answer.

“Dean, you don’t have friends who aren’t club members or women. And even the women aren’t really your friends, for the most part,” Cas responded. He leveled him with a squinting glare. Sam snorted out a laugh.

“His name’s Adam Milligan; he knows our dad,” Sam explained since it seemed Dean wasn’t going to. Cas’ squint swiveled to the man in question and his head finally cocked like it had been threatening to do. He got the same look contemplating a shot in pool and Dean wanted to hit Sam because it was seconds until Cas figured out who Adam really was. He settled for kicking his shin and was rewarded with a grunt of annoyance and a quick wince from Sam. After a moment Cas spoke up again.

“I see.” His tone indicated that he wasn’t looking for confirmation to whatever theory he’d come up with because he knew both men would probably lie about it anyway and tell him the truth when ready. No matter how close anyone got to the Winchester boys, they had a united front around them the outside world could never penetrate, forged by the fire that had taken their mother and week stretches at a time where their father had been gone without being able to promise he’d be back and having to defend each other from bullies and cops and side-eyed glances from the locals who knew John Winchester was the reason their little town had an outlaw motorcycle gang stationed in it. Both boys loved their fellow Wayward Sons as family, but it wasn’t the same and everyone knew that. 

Cas’ eyes drifted to the TV Ellen had hung behind the bar and the baseball game it was playing. The three of them fell into a conversation about the game and how much better Greinke had looked last year and whether or not he’d stay with the Royals next season among other things. It was an easy camaraderie between the three, and it had stayed when Adam came to talk to them for a few minutes before actually having to do something for Ellen, but Sam rolled his eyes and tuned out when Dean and Cas began to talk pool. The only person who had been able to beat Dean at pool was their father and he’d nearly been offended when Cas had shown up and quietly wiped the floor with him the first time and then proceeded to teach Ash to perfect his game and beat Dean as well. Dean took every chance he got to argue with his friend over how the game ought to be played. Sam didn’t care quite that much; he’d kicked a bunch of frat boy ass at Stanford for extra beer money and that had been all he’d needed, not minding when he lost an occasional game if it was played fairly. 

They were on their third beers by that point and a few people had wandered in for either a late dinner or an early start on some weekday drinking. There was a teenage couple there eating, the guy clearly trying to show off that he was a badass by taking the girl to this biker bar‒ it didn’t seem to really be working since he kept nervously eyeing the leather Sam and Dean and Cas were all still wearing. A couple of older men who spent a few nights in there a week had taken up their usual spots at the bar. A few more people came in and Sam didn’t notice anything special. As soon as he started to pay attention to Dean and Cas’ conversation again, he saw Dean glance over his shoulder and his mouth curved up with a greeting for whoever had just walked in.

“Hey, man, you get that shipment you needed for that house yesterday?” Dean asked when Gordon sat down next to him. 

“Yeah. Garth was no help, but yeah,” Gordon replied. “Cas, Sam,” he nodded to them. Ellen showed up before he could go on, and asked if he wanted a beer as usual. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You make the rest of us look bad with that ma’am shit, you know,” Dean told him.

“You’re the only one who never does it, Dean,” Sam told him. He looked betrayed but Gordon laughed, which was a miracle. Sam liked Gordon as a Wayward Son well enough, but he never got along with him the way Dean did, the two of them having been in high school together, so any time they seemed even remotely like they could actually be friends, it was a great thing. 

“How was Garth unhelpful?” Cas cut in before Sam and Dean could start bickering. 

“He’s a good guy, but damn if he isn’t just an odd one too. Our lumber guy looked like he wanted to swing on him; we’re in construction, we’re not supposed to be that fuckin’ cheerful about anything.”

“He is a little enthusiastic, yes,” Cas agreed. Ellen brought Gordon his beer and received a thanks before he turned back to his companions.

“You wanna shoot some?” he asked Dean. Dean nodded his assent and turned to Cas with instructions not to try to come over and tell him how to shoot. Cas never did, but Dean always insisted. Sam was pretty sure it was a case of protesting too much, but that’s how his brother was. Gordon and Dean racked the table and Cas and Sam sat in a companionable silence, the juke box playing something off The Who By Numbers. 

“Sam,” Cas started quietly. Sam looked at him, knowing what was coming. “He’s your half-brother isn’t he? Adam, I mean.” 

“Yeah. We just found out.” Seemed stupid to lie.

“He seems like it doesn’t take him long to fit in somewhere,” he observed. Adam was cleaning off the table of the man who’d just left with half a club sandwich still on his plate and looking surreptitiously around to see if anyone would see as he snuck a fry. Sam shook his head with a smile as he saw it. It was hard to resist the fries on days Ash was in the kitchen.

“He kind of has to,” Sam shrugged. “He seems like a pretty good kid. Too good to be around here, really.”

“For outlaws, we’re not actually that bad. We just sell some guns sometimes‒ we could be much worse,” Cas said. “We treat people right.”

“Yeah, unless we gotta shoot ‘em.” Sam grinned and Cas did as well. It wasn’t as though Cas didn’t know exactly what sort of violence they’d had to do as a club, but he deemed it necessary to eke out a life in a town practically wiped out by the loss of manufacturing and he had his own bitterness about the American dream that Freedom as a town, and the Illinois town Cas was a transplant from, were supposed to represent. As close as they were, Sam didn’t know all that much about Cas’ life before he joined the club; just that he came from a big, religious family, had a twin brother, had a falling out with the church before returning to his faith but not quite as heavily. And he only knew that because of the fact that when they had gone to get Cas tattooed with the club symbol, he’d already had something there: angel wings spanning from his shoulder blades to the middle of his triceps. He was the only member with the symbol any place other than his left shoulder. 

They fell into easy conversation for a while before Cas took his phone out of his pocket and furrowed his brow at whatever he read there. He bid Sam good night and Sam didn’t question it. Sometimes he thought that his friend had some secret affair going on, but he didn’t seem like the type. But something dragged him away with that same look on his face on occasion. When Cas was gone, Jo found him. She’d taken her apron off and was clearly on her way out but she wanted to ask how he was. She also wanted to grill him.

“Your brother wouldn’t say, but who is this guy you have staying in the clubhouse? My mom won’t tell me either,” she said a note of annoyance evident in her voice. 

“If they won’t, what makes you think I will, Jo?” Sam said it with a smile, but he meant it. “Why do you care anyway?”

“Aw, come on, Sam. I always told you my secrets when I was younger. And why would I not care about who the cute guy who keeps smiling at me is?” She responded without embarrassment. Sam was used to it; where Jo had carried a torch for Dean for years as the older bad boy type, he’d been given the role of best friend despite the two year difference between them. That had lessened when Jo had gone to high school and made girlfriends and then again when Sam had run off to Stanford, but she still brought it up whenever she wanted something from him.

“You’re gonna make Dean jealous‒” he was interrupted by a look so sharp he didn’t even want to continue. “Jo, I promise, we’ll tell you when we can. It won’t be any longer than next Saturday. Swear.” Jo pursed her lips into a little pout like she had when she was 12 and Sam was 14 and helpless against it but he just laughed now. “Let me see the new tattoo.”

She rolled up the sleeve of the jacket she’d shrugged on. The skin around the ink was still a little inflamed, but Sam thought the tattoo suited her.

“I hope you guys don’t mind,” she said as Sam looked at the devil’s trap done in black on her wrist. Sam circled her arm right above the tattoo and squeezed gently.

“Of course we don’t mind. As long as your mother doesn’t want to kill us all for it.” Jo shook her head and rolled her sleeve back down. 

“You’d better tell me Saturday, Sam,” she said as she started to leave.

“I will; ride safe, Jo,” Sam replied. There was no way Ellen would be mad about the tattoo when she’d finally stopped fighting Jo about riding last year. Ellen hadn’t had a problem with her daughter knowing how to ride, but when Jo had shown up to the garage with the bare bones of a ’63 sportster, begging for help putting it back together and Ellen had found out that Dean had agreed to, she’d been furious. Dean said later that the only other time Ellen had scared him more had been when she thought he and Jo were sleeping together. Which they never had been. Both were quick to point it out.

“She was worried about that tattoo,” Ellen told him, setting another beer down in front of him. Before he could reply that she needn’t have been, Ellen’s eyes slid past him. “Can I get you something, darling?”

“Red Stag on the rocks if you got it. If not, Jim Beam.” Sam noticed the music had changed from The Who to The Eagles and he knew that Gordon was rolling his eyes at the pool table because of it. He couldn’t count the number of times he had heard him and Dean argue about whether the band was overrated. He was about to turn to see if they were arguing about it now, when the woman Ellen had just taken a drink order from spoke again. “You care if I sit?”  


He turned the other way to look at her and thankfully his mouth worked before his eyes caught up and he said “Of course not.” When the words left his mouth he took in the fact that the woman hooking one heel around the lower bar of the stool was gorgeous. She had dark hair that curled slightly and fell just above the top of the cleavage showing in the dark gray top clinging to her under a leather jacket. Her dark eyes were made even darker by the eyeliner and mascara done impeccably. Sam knew he was staring at her full lipped wide mouth painted burgundy. He looked away from her lips long enough to notice her eyes taking in the vest he hadn’t shed.

“Which bike out there’s yours, then?” she wondered. Ellen brought her her drink and asked.

“You want to start a tab?” With a nod, the woman pulled out a credit card and handed it over to Ellen. The smile she gave her didn’t quite reach her eyes but it didn’t matter. 

“You know motorcycles?” Sam asked. There weren’t a ton of women around who did that weren’t related to the club in some way.

“I know people who do. I appreciate them even if I don’t know them. That a crime?” she responded challengingly.

“Not at all. Just changes how I answer,” he smiled, making sure it was wide enough to show his dimples. “Mine’s the white one, with the roses on the tank.”

“The Dyna Wide Glide with the ape hangers?”

“I thought you said you didn’t know bikes,” Sam said with a cocked eyebrow.

“Maybe I lied. What year is she?” She was smirking and took a sip of her bourbon once she was done asking.

“A ’96. I’m Sam, by the way,” he said, twisting on his stool so that his body was angled towards hers. 

“Well, you gonna buy a girl a drink, Sam? And not judge her if she wants some of those fries I heard someone raving about over at the juke box?”

“I’ll buy you the fries if you tell me your name.”

“It’s Ruby.” She answered him and Sam waved a hand to get Ellen’s attention.

“Yeah, hon?” she asked.

“You think you could get Ash to make one more order of fries before he shuts down the kitchen?” Sam didn’t want to press his luck but he put on a minor version of the puppy dog eyes that Ellen had a weak spot for. She wasn’t falling for it at all, but she nodded all the same. She’d been running this bar for far too long with far too many pretty girls having sat down next to one of the club members not to know exactly what was going on. 

Ruby gave him a languid sort of smile and a thanks. 

“You pick this song while you were eavesdropping?” He asked as Don Henley was crooning for you to ‘see how high she flies.’ She seemed like the type of woman who’d be able to take that joke. 

“The next few, yeah. You got a problem with the Eagles?” Sam shook his head. “Good; I’d hate to think such a good looking guy didn’t have good taste in music.” 

Sam ducked his head a little as though embarrassed before responding. “Grew up on classic rock so it’s hard to take issue with it. Got into The White Stripes and The Black Keys and shit like that in college though.”

“Oh, college, so he’s smart too.” 

“Smart enough to ask where you’re from; I’d have seen you before if you were from Freedom.” 

“And I’m smart enough to know that’s a line. ’You come here often?’ not your style?” 

“Oh, because ‘I’d hate to think a good looking guy had bad taste in music,” isn’t a line at all?” He took the last swallow of his beer as Ruby smirked. Ellen brought out the French fries and she was saved from responding; Ellen had also slid the woman’s credit card back to her with the plate and moved away from the pair quick enough that Ruby couldn’t argue. Sam didn’t think she would and she just pocketed the card without comment. She bit into a fry and let out an appreciative “mmm.”

“It’s like deep fried crack,” she said around another one. Sam laughed and stole one from the side of her plate. Her face changed, the smile falling and her eyebrows both going up expectantly. For a second, Sam was concerned she was actually going to give him shit for the stolen fry. “Can I help you?”

“No, but my brother can,” Sam heard before her turned and saw Dean. When Sam was fully facing him, Dean finally let the glare he was giving Ruby drop from his face. “I’m taking off,” he said and fished a set of keys out of his pocket and handing them to Sam. “I’m gonna be in late tomorrow‒ going through some stuff at Bobby’s in the morning‒ so you gotta open. Again.”

“Ride safe.”

“You ride safe, Sammy,” Dean shot back. Sam knew Dean would have called the look he gave him in return a bitchface. 

“He your actual brother or is that a club thing?” Ruby said over the top of her glass.

“Actual older brother. He gets a little protective sometimes still,” he justified. There was no way she hadn’t caught the double entendre of Dean’s parting statement. 

“You’re a giant biker, what’s he got to protect you from?”

Sam shrugged. “Women who just wanna milk me for fries, maybe?”

“Oh, yeah, you need to be careful of me. I’ve got an evil plan. I’ll get a few drinks out of you and eventually, you’ll take me out on that Dyna.” Sam shook his head with a laugh. He remembered Jess playing an angle like that the first time they’d met too. Ruby continued to enjoy her fries and they fell into casual conversation without Sam realizing how much time had passed. It wasn’t until Ellen was telling him that she was going to close up in about fifteen minutes that he realized Ruby hadn’t actually told him anything about herself. She stood up from the stool and slid the jacket she’d eventually taken off back on and Sam opened his mouth but she spoke up before he could. “Don’t worry, Sam, I’ll show up again sometime.” And with that, she was walking out the door, heels clicking.

“Damn, Winchester, struck down,” Ash commented from the corner he’d been sitting in. Bobby had obviously told him to check the books again because they were open in front of him.

“Whatever, Ash,” he replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks, Ellen.” 

Throughout the ride back until he closed his eyes and fell asleep, Sam was singing “she got the moon in her eyes,” under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The opinions about motorcycles expressed by the characters here are based on the idea that most USA MCs require their members to have American made motorcycles; I went with Harley-Davidson because that’s my personal preference and it in no way reflects anything else.


	3. I'd Love To Change the World

Thursday was slow; Adam brought his car to the garage and insisted on paying them something for looking at it. “Buy us a case of beer and you’re good, kid,” Dean said and Adam shrugged with a nod of assent to avoid an argument. He was already gathering that the oldest Winchester was a stubborn one and he knew Dean was trying to be good to him. It didn’t come off as condescending and Adam was grateful for it. He was grateful for the place to stay and a place to do work. Yet, being around Ellen made Adam feel strange after losing his mother so recently; she treated every younger member of the club as her if they were her children and it was obvious she loved them all. It was hard enough to be around such a tightknit group of people, but to watch them be mothered was even worse in some ways. But it was only at moments when he was by himself that he felt it. Ash had kept him occupied the day before, talking about anything that came to his mind, from how to make the perfect French fry to quantum physics (which had gone way over Adam’s head but he’d tried to keep up) to the upgrades he was making to his bike. Sam and Dean and Cas were a good distraction at the moment.

“There are other colors than black, you know, Dean,” Sam told his brother. Adam wasn’t sure if he was talking about tattoos or Dean’s bike; they’d addressed both topics earlier in the day while under the hood of Adam’s car. There’d been no segue, but he supposed brothers that close would know what conversation they were restarting. 

“My baby’s black, so that Dyna is going to stay black.”

“I could do something interesting with matte against gloss if you wanted,” Cas said from the stool he was sitting on. 

“Let him, Dean. What’s the point in your best friend being a great artist if you are just gonna drive around on a black bike?”

“Hey, she’s got color‒”

“That little script on the back doesn’t count. You put black pipes on her for crying out loud! Who do you think you are? Batman?” Dean stood up and tossed the wrench he was using into his toolbox; it wound up exactly in an empty compartment.

“I am Batman.” His ridiculous grin was enough to make the rest of them laugh. He turned to Adam. “I’m almost done, man.”

Adam nodded and glanced at Cas. He weighed his options and decided screw it since the club would know who he was in two days anyway. “What time are we going to see John tomorrow?”

Cas didn’t even look surprised and it didn’t appear that anyone was going to try to come up for some excuse for Adam to be going to see John.

“We’ll meet you at the Roadhouse about 11. It only takes an hour to get there and we don’t want to use up all of his visiting points,” Sam told him. Adam had never needed to know how prison visitation worked so he took Sam’s word for it. 

“Not to be rude, but are you sure he’ll even be able to see John?” Cas spoke up again. 

“Dad’ll have put him on his list,” Dean said confidently. 

“He’s only got so many people who’d visit him, but he’d fill the list. Hell, he put Azazel on it,” Sam shrugged. “And that was just on the off chance that those assholes wanted to deal and wouldn’t talk to anyone but the real president.” 

“He sure as hell put his son on there. Even if he hasn’t seen him in years.” Cas nodded at the statement, clearly deferring to Sam and Dean on this. Dean shut the hood of Adam’s car. “You’ll be ready by then?”

“Yeah,” Adam told him, holding back an ‘of course.’ He’d been pre-med and busted his ass during his summers; he hadn’t been able to sleep in since he was fifteen years old. 

“You gonna stick around?” Sam asked. 

“If you guys don’t mind, sure.” When he moved his car out of the garage and into the lot, it was like a miracle how much better it sounded and drove and he saw Dean’s pride in his work all over the vehicle, even if he didn’t see it on his face very openly. 

They simply hung out for the rest of the day, moving from the garage to the bar at five; arguing football, Cas staying out of it claiming that Pontiac had been in the center of three cities who loved their home teams too much to pick one, and discussing the viability of Ellen putting anything other than classic rock on her juke box, which Dean called them all philistines for (Sam was impressed he knew the word), and it was the most fun Adam could have imagined in the circumstance.

And it seemed like 11 came earlier than he had imagined it would. It was a grey, wet day outside and he heard the engine of the impala purr out front beneath the 

“You ready?” Sam called upstairs when he stepped inside. 

Adam didn’t even bother to reply, just grabbed his wallet off the nightstand and headed to meet his brothers in the car. He slid into the back seat with a nod at both of them.

“I always have to wait ten minutes for him when we go to see Dad,” Sam said as he reached for the dial on the radio.

“Shut up, bitch, you do not. And don’t touch that radio. You know the rule.”

“Yeah, yeah, driver picks the music. We’re not teenagers anymore, jerk.”

“Shotgun still shuts his cakehole,” Dean said as though Sam’s reminder of them not being teenagers meant nothing.

“Why did it have to rain?” Sam sighed and Dean cranked up the volume. Adam snorted a laugh that couldn’t be heard since it was competing with the Led Zeppelin now blasting from the speakers. It was a few more songs, at least one of which caused an unintentional sing along that all of them would say was much more macho than it really was if asked, before anyone spoke up again.

“You nervous?” Sam asked. Dean glanced in the rearview in curiosity as well. 

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, talking about my mom’s passing sucks either way, but now I gotta do it in a sort of public place, you know? It’s not like it’s gonna be some family reunion picnic.” Adam didn’t expect it to come out as defensively as it did, but neither Sam nor Dean commented on the tone. They didn’t even comment on the content and he continued before he could help himself. “And honestly? I don’t know how to talk to him. I was 14 the last time I saw him.”

“Do you want us to go in at the same time as you, then, man?” Dean finally spoke up after a moment. “We figured we’d give you some time, but he can have three people in there at once.”

“I…” Adam trailed off. He knew they were offering, but he felt like a kid asking them to go in with him. 

“It might actually keep Sam and him from fighting,” Dean said. “And don’t act like that isn’t a possibility about this, Sammy,” he looked at his brother. 

“Yeah, that’d be alright. Thanks,” Adam answered.

“No problem. And I’m not going to start a fight with him, Dean. I might have some shit to say to him, but doing that during prison visiting hours is a stupid idea and I know why.”

Dean nodded his approval of that and the rest of the ride passed in a comfortable silence punctuated by radio only. They pulled up to the prison and Adam was surprised. It looked more like a capitol building than any prison Adam had ever seen, not that he’d seen that many, but he’d driven by them before. None had looked like this that he remembered. 

He followed Sam and Dean to the door and through security. The guards there didn’t even attempt to hide their disdain for Dean and the vaguely challenging look on his face. Sam tried to look more deferential than his brother and got only slightly better attitudes in exchange. They obviously knew the other men and almost looked confused by Adam’s presence. Through security, after being pat down and walking through a metal detector, there was still a window Dean and Sam headed toward, reaching for their IDs. They one at a time passed them to the man behind it and he typed their names into the computer nodding at each of them when their names appeared. Adam didn’t really look up from his shoes as he passed his to the man as well, hoping that the Winchesters weren’t wrong about their father having put Adam on the list as well. 

The man slid the ID back to Adam and opened his mouth to ask, “You all going in together, boys?”

“Yes, sir,” Adam answered in knee jerk fashion. 

“Alright. He was expecting you two, so he’s in there already,” the guard nodded and gestured toward the door. 

Adam tried to keep his breathing steady and with a quick look from Sam it was easier to do so. He could tell the older man wanted to reassure him but restrained himself out of respect for Adam’s pride. 

Dean pushed through the door with Sam coming after him and Adam bringing up the rear and John was sitting at one of the very first tables. He stood with a smile on his face. 

“Boys,” he said warmly and Adam realized the man didn’t see him behind the wall that was his middle son. He put his arms around Dean and gave him a quick pat on the back before pulling Sam in and giving him the same treatment. It was then that he noticed Adam, the smile on his face turning into a look of shock. 

“Adam?”

“Hey, John,” Adam answered. The older man took a step forward and Adam let him pull him into a brief hug as well, even responding. The man was in prison, it seemed like he deserved to get the hug and truthfully, despite the fact that he hadn’t ever really been there, he was still his father and Adam had lost his mother less than three weeks ago. He wouldn’t admit it out loud at all, but he needed it too. The four of them sat, John on one side of the table and his sons across from him, and he looked at the three of them.

“I suppose you’ve got some questions then,” he said trying to smirk and play off the fact that he had no idea how to handle this either. 

“I actually have to tell you something first,” Adam started after a bit. He could almost feel Sam and Dean both trying to look occupied. It looked like John was going to ask so Adam pushed on ahead. “My mom died. Two weeks ago.”

John didn’t say anything for a minute, just looked at the hands he had clasped in front of him on the table. Adam wasn’t sure if he should just continue or not when John looked up.

“I’m so sorry, Adam. I should have been there for you.”

“You hadn’t been there for a while; we didn’t really expect you to come back when she got sick.” He said this flatly, not caring to let John know how mad he’d been at him for years and how it had all come rushing back when they’d found out about the cancer. 

“What was it?”

“Skin cancer. Spread to her organs too quickly for the doctors to stop it.”

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. He looked at a loss and while most of Adam wanted to be mad at the man, for not being there while he grew up and not being there for his mom and not being there for him now, he looked miserable in his prison orange and the grey standing out in his beard. And he understood why he hadn’t been there; the man already had a life and it was a complicated one and he knew that what Dean had said last Tuesday would have been the truth in John’s mind: his youngest son would be better off growing up without him for the most part. 

“I thought you should know. I tried to call you but…” he trailed off. He made sure he had John’s eyes before he went on. “You should have told me I had brothers.”

“You should have told us about him, Dad,” Sam seconded. Dean was silent.

“What would it have changed?” John asked, not pretending to be contrite, not pretending that he hadn’t had his reasons. 

“I wouldn’t have panicked that I was completely alone when I couldn’t get a hold of you. I would have known that even without you around I still have family. That I would have a place to go if I couldn’t find you, which was hard enough to do. Mom kept your address hidden all these years, thinking as soon as I could I’d come find you. I should have looked before, obviously.” Adam was trying not to get too loud, but he knew his voice was rising. For a moment he had thought it might be on the verge of breaking, but his last statement was said with more disappointment than sadness. He realized his hands were clenching on the table though and he let them open and fall to his thighs before he continued, looking back at John again from having looked away. “I don’t have any place to go other than here.”

“You can be here,” John said without hesitation. “Stay in Freedom as long as you need. You taking care of him?” The question was directed at Sam and Dean.

“He’s staying in the clubhouse apartment,” Sam answered. John nodded.

“Anything you need, we can get you. If you need money to get on your feet and get back to Minnesota‒”

“I don’t want to be in Minnesota‒”

“If you want to be somewhere else then,” John started.

“There’s no way I can go anywhere else. When I say I don’t have anywhere else to go, I mean it. There’s no money in our accounts, and there’s no way you have enough to float me.” Adam said this without any self-pity, just as a statement of fact. 

“Are you angling for something, here?” John was straight forward. “Because if you’re trying to ask my permission to join this club, you’ve gotta know I’ll say no. There’s a reason I stayed away from you and your mom and it was so neither one of you would get caught up in this. If you haven’t noticed, I’m in prison.”

“That’s not fair, Dad,” Sam said. 

“You wanted out and now you want to let your younger brother, a brother you just found out about, get in?” John asked incredulously.

“I never wanted out, I just wanted to go to school and that’s so not what this is about. He doesn’t have to have your permission. You won’t even get a say in it if he wants in until you’re back at the table.”

“I haven’t even said I want in,” Adam interrupted. John and Sam both looked at him. “I just need to know if I can stick around. No offense, but I wish I could go somewhere else, but I can’t. So this is my option. And I mean really stick around, not just until you think I’ve had enough and have to go. I don’t need your permission to do anything, because I never have. But I need your help and I’m not above asking for it.”

John looked at his other two sons, both tattooed and scarred and excellent with firearms and knew that they were a product of the environment he’d let them grow up in. He briefly wondered if it wouldn’t be more of a help to Adam to kick him to the curb and make him fend for himself, but he knew Sam and Dean wouldn’t let that happen, not really, and not without tearing him a new one for it. 

“I’m not going to tell you to stay away from the only family you got left,” John finally said. Adam breathed a sigh of relief with a “thanks” attached to the end.

“Now that we got that settled, what the hell, Dad? You couldn’t have told us? I’m 32 years old, you think Sammy and I couldn’t have handled that information?” Dean had been so quiet it would have been easy for Adam to forget he was there, but his tone of exasperation almost broke the tension that had been building.

“I couldn’t take the chance you’d pull him into one of your harebrained schemes earlier and we were kind of busy before I got thrown in here, if you don’t remember,” John responded with an almost sharp look at his eldest. 

“I almost tried to shoot him when he showed up and said John Winchester was his dad,” Dean explained. Adam turned his head to look at him. “Sorry, kid,” Dean shrugged back at him. 

“This is why I never told you about them,” John said to Adam with a smile. Sam managed an indignant “hey” before John started to laugh. That fully broke the tension and John and his elder boys fell into conversation about how the garage was doing and then into what was obviously a coded conversation about club matters and finally how club members and Ellen and Jo were which lead to the fact that Adam was helping out around the bar. He was glad to be brought back into the conversation even if it had been fascinating to watch how John was with his other sons and how their personas shifted as the conversation did, him switching from business owner to outlaw president to friend but never losing the part of him that screamed father. Dean, throughout his shifts from mechanic to outlaw disciplinarian never shifted from son, but Sam did in a subtle way. Adam didn’t know John, he’d met the man twice despite the DNA they shared. His mother told him that John had a sense of right that she could see in Adam, but he didn’t know whether that was true. How could a sense of right that landed the man in prison translate to a pre-med student who’d sold his prize possession to help his mother? Watching the interaction between the three of them, even for that single hour, John was clearly defined. To Adam, the man was an absent god he wasn’t sure he believed in; to Dean, a general to fall in line with, no hesitation; to Sam, a principle he had to question in order to grow. 

John had a small smile not far from his mouth the rest of the time they were there; the longest it had strayed from his face was when they were discussing how Bobby hadn’t gotten any new pipes into the yard since before John had been imprisoned. But when the hour was up, John embraced all three of his sons, telling Sam and Dean to ride safe despite the fact they were driving the impala. He put his hands on Adam’s shoulders as he pulled back from him.

“I wish things were different,” he said with a weak smile. “I wish to hell they were.” Adam didn’t know how to respond so when John nodded at him, he turned and followed Sam and Dean out the door. 

When they were in the car, Dean turned in the driver’s seat to look back at Adam.

“Wasn’t so bad, right? I mean, could have been a lot worse.”

“You mean aside from him pre-emptively kicking his son out of his club? Sure, Dean,” Sam answered.

“Shut up, Sam,” he threw a hand out and cuffed the back of his brother’s head. “You always gotta be like that. Can’t you just be happy in a shit situation sometimes?”

“I’m not always like this, you ass‒”

“Guys, I want in,” Adam interrupted. Dean stopped mid-shift and Sam’s mouth was still open mid-insult as they turned in the front seat. Dean’s eyes were imploring and Sam even seemed to give a little nod of encouragement. “I lied in there. Seemed like the only way to get him to agree. He’s my father but he doesn’t get a say in what I do. And I want in.”

The two in front exchanged a glance. Both of their mouths curled up a little before falling again. It seemed as though they were going to speak and Adam couldn’t stop himself.

“I know I don’t have a bike. I’ll get one. But if I’m gonna be here, as good as you guys have been to me, I need to be here. I can’t be stuck between a new life and my old life and my old life doesn’t exist-.”

“You’ve only been here a week, Adam,” Sam pointed out. He went on before Adam could get defensive. “We’re not saying no; neither one of is, but…”  
Dean picked up where he trailed off. “There is a reason Dad said he wanted you kept out.” 

“I know. But they’re all gone.”

“That’s not true,” Sam said. He saw the look on Adam’s face an amended himself. “Okay, they’re all gone right now, but you can still have a normal life.”

“You can’t have a normal life with that cut on your back and that ink on your shoulder, not really.” Dean looked like he was deciding whether or not this conversation needed to take place at a standstill. Adam noticed and responded to that before anything.

“You can drive, man, I’m not gonna throw myself out of the car or anything.” Dean shifted into drive and shot an annoyed glance back at Adam. It was a look honed on Sam. Adam didn’t think it was fair of him to look annoyed‒ he ought to be throwing annoyed looks at the two older Winchesters. “I’ve seen Sam doing homework in the clubhouse, so I don’t know how you can tell me there isn’t a way to have a normal life and still be in the club.”

Sam and Dean were silent in the front seat. They’re still telling each other something from the feeling in the car, but Adam had no idea what.

“It’s taken a lot of sacrifice for me to have that, Adam.” Only the wipers made noise, the radio not on and Sam not elaborating. Adam waited nearly thirty seconds before opening his mouth to ask. He didn’t have to, as Sam continued. “Part of the reason Dad’s actually doing the six years is because he worked it out to get me out of it. It took a lot of finagling with our lawyer‒”

“Who is a godsend as far as Dad’s concerned‒” 

“But I don’t have the charges on my record. There’s just a disturbing the peace charge on me. I have no idea how Mara did it. I’m pretty sure she might have bribed a judge for us. But it meant that dad went in for six years instead of the one. I would have done one but never been allowed to take the bar.”

“Well, good thing I don’t want to be a lawyer,” Adam said after a moment. He knew they were just trying to warn him, but he could make his own decisions. If he wasn’t letting John make this decision for him, he certainly wasn’t going to let Sam or Dean. He didn’t mention that a medical school probably wouldn’t take kindly to a felony charge. 

“Know lots of doctors with records?” Dean wasn’t even pretending to keep his eyes on the road. They were locked in the rearview at Adam. He smirked when Adam’s face fell. “Not hard to find your record, kid. How many pre-med students you know with gang tats? Because you realize for as much as we run a legitimate business in the garage, that club ain’t just a social one. We might not be sportin’ a 1 percenter patch, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t the guys most people ought to be scared of.”

Adam knew exactly how much his next words were going to piss the men in front off and he did it deliberately. He almost felt like he was getting the hang of this little brother thing. In the most dysfunctional way. “Are you rapists?” 

“What the fuck, no. Jesus, man this isn’t Hells Angels in the 70s. What the fu‒”

“You just run guns. That’s all right?” Adam didn’t know how long Dean would go on in that vein. Sam had turned around with a look so offended Adam didn’t know whether to apologize or laugh. Instead he made his point.

“Running guns occasionally means using those same guns. But yeah. For now, all we do is run guns,” Sam answered while Dean was still shaking his head.

“The fact that you can just say ‘all you do is run guns’ shows just how fucked up this is already,” Dean said. 

“So you might as well just let me join.”

“You little shit,” Dean replied. Sam laughed and the tension that had been building finally broke. Dean flipped on the radio.

“It’s not our decision, but we can bring it up to the club. If you still want it in another two weeks,” Sam explained. “We can’t just go into the club tomorrow and say ‘this is our brother, he wants in,’ without anyone knowing. It’d be too much.”

“Yeah, church would probably get a little insane,” Dean smirked.

“Do you really still gotta call it that? You know Cas hates it.”

“So?”

“He’s your best friend.” Adam watched the exchange with interest. They spoke the language of the club so fluently, but it was nothing to how they shouted ‘brother.’ 

“He’s got his God, and I’ve got mine.” Dean took one hand off the wheel and smacked his shoulder, the one Adam knew had the club symbol on it. “I trust mine a hell of a lot more than I’d ever trust his.” At that, they fell into a comfortable silence for the rest of the drive back to Freedom, the radio and the rain all the conversation they needed.

*** 

Bobby was banging the gavel on the table the next morning. 

“Bobby, we all here, you gotta bang that damn thing?” Rufus groaned on his right. With John gone from the head of the table, only Bobby and Dean were in seats of status, but they all knew where they were seated mattered.

“He just likes the power,” Ash joked with a jerk of his chin at Bobby from Rufus’ right. 

“Shut it, both of you,” Bobby said with a glare. They shared a smirk between the two of them and both the Winchester boys were fighting the same expression from creeping onto their faces. Only Cas and Gordon seemed to be able to keep a straight face. “And we’re not all here. That idjit, G‒”

But Bobby didn’t get to finish his sentence before the man in question walked in. 

“Sorry,” Garth had the grace to look faintly embarrassed and serious. The first time he’d shown up to an actual meeting, the men he’d been getting to know had all been fairly shocked by the uncharacteristically somber attitude. He slipped into the chair to the right of Cas and offered no excuse. The club turned their attention back to their interim president. 

“Alright, I’m calling this meeting to order, officially. First order up is old business. I don’t need to remind you, but it’s last meeting of the month, which means the books were in. For us, and for Ellen. She’s managin’, but just barely. If you got ideas on anything to help her out, bring ‘em to the table.”

“Make the roadhouse a stop on a poker run,” Gordon suggested with a shrug. “Been a while since we did one. Plan it for peak riding season, should be easy enough to drum up interest.”

“And it’d be a legitimate fundraiser, get the police off us for a second, maybe,” Dean nodded.

“Ain’t a bad idea. You wanna plan that out?”

“I can, yeah.” Bobby nodded at Gordon for the response. 

“We ain’t exactly raking it in either, boys, and that’s partly the cops keepin’ an eye on our channels since John and Caleb and Jim went in. We can’t move through them right now, and we might not have the funds to make it without if we’re keepin’ Mara Daniels on retainer like we need to and paying upkeep for this place. And no one wants to let those things go. And that’s a little harder to fix than a poker run. If anyone finds any job for us, legitimate or under the table, you bring it to us. I don’t expect you to have anything now. Unless someone’s got something to say.”

There was silence at the table. The last months had been hard and they all knew it was going to get worse if they weren’t bringing money in on the side. But no one had a solution yet.

“Didn’t think so. But keep it in mind if you haven’t been. I know you all have, but I gotta remind you. If you got guys who’ve shown an interest, bring ‘em around. We could use the dues.” There was a collective nod of affirmation around the table. “Has there been more activity with the Knights of Hell?”

“Last we heard, they were hitting Lawrence hard, but they haven’t strayed back up here for months,” Cas supplied.

“Jake Talley and I nearly got into it. He was on K-U’s campus on Tuesday. I don’t know if he was movin’ something or just there. He wasn’t in colors though,” Sam affirmed.

“They’re almost more of a problem because they aren’t making a problem right now,” Rufus pointed out. “It’d make me feel better if we could just hit ‘em. But we can’t, I know.”

“No, we definitely can’t. I’d like to, too though. You’re not alone in that,” Gordon said. There were a few nods. 

“Well, we’ll keep an eye out for anything. Is there any other old business we need to discuss?” The nods turned into head shakes and Bobby went on. “Then onto new business. You all noticed that we’ve had a new face around the roadhouse, same kid who’s been occupyin’ that room upstairs.” Bobby motioned to open the table to discussion. It was his habit, one he hadn’t taken from John’s presidency, to take the temperature of anything brought up in new business.

“Yeah, I ended up crashin’ on a pool table because I forgot he was there, even if I have been working with him for two weeks,” Ash said.

“I’ve seen you sleep on that pool table even when that room is free,” Sam grinned at him from across the table. Ash flipped him the bird. Sam’s smile got even wider.

“Who is he?” Garth asked. Eyes turned to Sam and Dean. They glanced at each other and Dean ran a hand through his hair with a deep breath. 

“He’s John’s youngest son. He’s our half-brother.” There once again was silence in the clubhouse.

“Damn. You sure?” Rufus asked finally. 

“Yeah, we’re sure,” Sam nodded.

“Why is he here? Now, I mean,” Cas spoke up. Sam hadn’t realized he hadn’t explained that part. He sent a silent apology to Cas.

“His mom died. He doesn’t have any other family and he came lookin’ for John. Found me at the garage instead. He’s a good kid.” 

“That’s true, but how long is he gonna be crashin’ in our space? I mean no disrespect, you know that,” Ash wondered. “He’s a big help for Ellen, but that place ain’t set up to be lived in for real. Our budget ain’t set up for it to be.”

“Does him being around bother any of you?” Dean asked, edge in his voice that he couldn’t help.

“No, brother, no one said that,” Gordon answered. Ash gestured his agreement and it wasn’t as though Dean didn’t know that’s not what Ash had meant. He grimaced a little in apology to Ash. Dean knew his protective streak ran wide and apparently Adam was no exception. “I like him well enough. Even if he ain’t much of a pool player.”

Dean smiled a little and Sam took that as a sign he could speak up.

“We didn’t know how John would take him being in Freedom, so we wanted to wait before getting him some place more involved.”

“I’ll put him up for a while, give the club its space back. He’s still gonna be around though,” Dean added. “And he’s family‒”

“You know family don’t end with blood,” Bobby interrupted.

“It’s always gotta be your line, doesn’t it?” Dean demanded jokingly. He once again addressed the club. “I was gonna say that. So treat him right when you see him is all, yeah?”

Once the table had assented, Bobby began again. “Any other new business we need to discuss at this time?” He paused. “Remember that we’re ridin’ Friday for Sam’s birthday. It’s early, but you know not a damn bar in this state will take us on a Sunday. And no bitchin’ about where he wants to lead us.”  
Dean rolled his eyes; his brother always lead them somewhere he knew everyone else in the club would hate first and everyone always bitched about it. Mostly it was John, but others followed suit. It was kind of Bobby to try to stop that tradition.

“And pay your damn dues on time next Saturday. Just because it ain’t a church day‒ sorry, Cas, habit‒ just because we don’t have a meeting, doesn’t mean you can give me an excuse.” He glared around the room. “Alright, then if no one’s got anything else, this meeting is adjourned.” He banged the gavel to close it out.

“Always with the gavel, Bobby,” Rufus said again.

“I’m gonna bang it on your head next time, Rufus,” Bobby retorted, standing up. 

As they filed out, Gordon ribbing Dean with a comment about being a big brother and Sam sharing a look with Cas about the new information and Garth returning to his normal self and giving Ash shit for sleeping on the pool table, both Winchester boys had their youngest siblings request in mind. It was hard to reconcile bringing Adam into this life, but maybe it couldn’t be helped.


	4. Highway to Hell

The week flew; the garage seemed to see every car in Freedom, as though the abuse done to them in winter finally was catching up. Dean’s hands wouldn’t come clean from the grease and Sam gave drafts of final papers to his professors with the same smeared on them over the ink and promises to give them clean copies in two weeks when the semester was done. Cas repainted more cars that had had rust buffed out than it felt like he ever had. Even Bobby seemed to be busy in the salvage yard. Dean had talked to him about the ‘87 Softtail that he had thought of as just scrap for as long as it’d been there and he’d set about looking for the parts to fix her up in his free time. Dean hadn’t told him why he wanted it, but Bobby had a few different guesses. None of them involved Dean keeping the bike for himself. 

But Friday finally came and in some stroke of unusual luck, it was a gorgeous late April day. As a club they took their bikes out of storage in March whether or not the weather wanted them to. They ran to Kansas City in layers of leather, men who hadn’t worn helmets since they were 17 donning them just for warmth, the first Friday of March every year, but that day they’d get away with their leathers with the sun beating on their backs. Sam recalled riding through rain on his birthday run in years past and couldn’t help but be thankful when he stepped out of his place to be greeted by that weather. He smiled when he saw his brother was already there. His eyes widened when he realized his brother was there washing his bike.

“I can’t decide if that’s the lamest attempt to get out of giving me an actual birthday gift, or the best.”

“It ain’t a gift, it’s a way to keep the rest of the club from being embarrassed to be seen with you. Your bike is white, Sam, you gotta keep her cleaner than the rest of us do.” 

“Are we really gonna have this argument about paint again? So soon? It’s my birthday, just shut up about it,” Sam told him.

“Not your birthday, yet, bitch.”

“Might as well be, jerk.” But Sam went back inside to get Dean a towel to wipe the sweat from his face and even attempted to help him until Dean threw the sponge at him to keep him away. Once Dean was done, they sat on the stairs to the place with beers. Dean always argued that there wasn’t a point in being a biker if you couldn’t drink a beer at noon without guilt and it seemed like a stupid thing for Sam to fight him about. At least, it did that day. It wasn’t long before Sam’s bike was dry in the sunlight, but they sat not talking about anything of import until Dean’s phone went off.

“Bobby. He’s telling us to get our asses down to the roadhouse. Should I tell him it’s your birthday and you’ll get there whenever you damn well please?”

“No,” Sam laughed. “Let’s go.”

Sam’s bike shone bright in the sun, the red a glaring beacon with him and his brother dressed in grey and black and denim and the monochrome darkness of Dean’s Dyna only a few feet behind. Sam heard Dean rev his engine and he couldn’t help but grin even if his brother couldn’t see it. Dean sped up, flipping Sam off with his own grin as he passed him. It was like they were still 16 and 20 instead of more than a decade out from that. Sam had been good on his bike, comfortable, able to lean into a turn without fear from the moment John had taught him what the throttle was, but he hadn’t loved it, hadn’t understood why a bike was anything other than something he knew because his father wanted him too, until he’d ridden to keep up with his brother. 

They’d been too close in age to have been teenagers on Harleys together; they’d been young when John would put Dean on the back and attach the sidecar for Sam. By the time Dean could ride his own, Sam was too grown for a sidecar or the back. But he’d watched him. He’d seen Dean speed off down the road with a look of determination on his face and speed back with a whoop of glee. He’d seen Dean take turns too fast and try to hide his terror when he came back. He’d seen Dean dump his bike and limp it back to the garage, praying Dad was away and getting lucky most times. But he hadn’t seen him from an equal perspective. Watching your brother seemingly fly away from two feet solidly on the ground, no breeze to speak of, was in a different universe than watching his back, always equidistant, with wind and gravel whipping at you. Sam had learned how to change that distance between them, sometimes pulling ahead, sometimes behind, but they never moved out of range of hearing the other’s presence loud and clear. It felt as though their laughter had echoed up and down every damn road in the state that summer.

It felt like that every time it was just Sam and Dean Winchester on an open road, log fences and sunflowers and wheat fields and far-off wind-turbines flying by in their peripherals. 

Sam gunned his engine to pass his brother and saw a pickup coming at them in the other lane. He laid off back down to the steady 55 they were doing.

“Pussy!” he heard Dean shout over the wind and the v-twins. Sam could see the roadhouse in the distance, and he gunned it again, this time passing Dean easily. He didn’t lay off after he did, either. He knew Dean had sped up, but he still pulled into the roadhouse first, dropping from 70 to 25 to take the turn and throw gravel everywhere. Dean wasn’t even two seconds behind him. “Oh, you think you’re good. Remember where you learned it all, Sammy.”

“Don’t go takin’ credit for all of that; he had a lotta teachers,” Ellen said from where she was standing in the door. “And don’t look so shocked to see me out from behind the bar.”

“You keepin’ us out, Ellen?” Sam asked with suspicion and a small smile.

“I might be, at that. You know how they get. They all pretend to be such hardasses but wanna show the youngest a good time on his birthday. Buncha girls, I swear. Your brother’s the worst of the lot if he’s the one that shined up that bike of yours.”

Sam laughed and Dean looked indignant.

“A guy can’t be nice to his brother?”

“Of course he can, but we gotta give him shit for it, too.” It was Ash who walked out first and answered Dean’s question. 

“You washed his bike? You didn’t subject him to you wearing a bikini, did you?” Gordon was the next to come out with something to say. 

“Dean doesn’t seem like the type to wear a bikini. I’d suspect speedos were more likely involved,” Cas joined in. Rufus, Bobby, and finally Garth streamed out of the roadhouse as well.

“How ‘bout you all shut the fuck up and get on your bikes?” he paused as most of the rest of the club started to laugh. “Besides, I’d look great in a speedo. I’ve got awesome thighs.”

“You’re bowlegged as a tom cat, Dean,” Sam barked out with laughter. Dean shrugged defensively.

“I refuse to let that say anything about my character.”

“That’s fine. The rest of us know what it says about you, though,” Rufus said as he threw his leg over his bike. The Road King came to life under him and he just glared as Dean flipped him off, starting his bike as well. Within seconds, the gravel parking lot of the roadhouse was the loudest place in Freedom for a moment; seven Harley-Davidsons revving over each other in macho displays their riders couldn’t help but partake in. 

“Ride safe, boys,” Ellen called out as they began to leave the lot. She stood where she was and watched as the individual men turned into faceless carriers of black leather bearing a sigil-ridden pentagram with crossed gun and knife that marked them as Wayward Sons. The line of them looked so short. Her hand reached for the ring on her necklace before she knew it and she turned and went inside.

The line of them was short, but they allowed it to stretch, Sam always in the lead. The club followed every curve he made, passing each other with glee in their eyes. The road stretched on, bathed in the April sunlight and limned in Midwestern plains dotted with the farms that gave the region its stereotypes. They moved too fast to see the stares; the look of fear in the soccer mom’s eye as her minivan went by, the expression of awe the sick little boy in the Corolla had on his face for the only good moment that day, the gaze of intrigue the teenage girl skipping school in her daddy’s pickup. It was hard not to react as they went cruising by, speedometer needles pushing further and further to the right. They pointed in acknowledgment of the lone biker they saw on the other side of that two lane highway and received the same treatment back. It was forty-five minutes before Sam pulled into the lot of a joint that looked like it’d serve him an Irish coffee and a bacon sandwich and it’d do so again if he showed up at 4 in the morning, smelling like he didn’t need it.

They kept it to the rule‒ one drink per person per bar outside of Freedom where they were too far away from home to not have their wits about them‒ and were back on the road. None of them had any idea where they were, and they liked it that way. They’d find their way back to the comfort of their home by the end of the night, before Ellen closed and had to save the bottle she’d cracked open for them for another time. They always found their way home.

Another hour and they found themselves on main street of a quaint town that certainly hadn’t seen outlaw bikers and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to them sticking around for long. Sam eyed a sign proclaiming “rare books” but thought better of it even if he thought Bobby had probably taken note of it as well. This was the type of town that Freedom was supposed to be, Sam thought as they drove out of the business section of the street and into a stretch that was homes with American flags on their porches and “Go Tigers!” signs with jersey numbers in some of the yards. Americana at its homiest, and they came through it like a terror.

John had always justified the club as the way he looked for that home. Freedom hadn’t been a good place to be for a long time, and for John it had been even less once Mary died. The motorcycle he’d loved became his solace, the only thing that made sense besides his boys. But at 29, he hadn’t known how to raise two boys under the age of 4 without his wife. He’d found himself relying more and more on the men he’d worked with‒ Bobby Singer and Rufus Turner and Bill Harvelle‒ and their wives to help him get by. But they struggled too. So the club that had been a mostly social one, founded with three others‒ Jim Murphy, Caleb Lincoln, and Deacon Kaylor‒ shifted gears. They’d needed money to survive, to keep food on their tables and a roof over their heads, and Freedom wasn’t providing it. They found a way and for over twenty-five years, they’d kept finding a way, legitimate or not.

And in reality, Sam couldn’t imagine what life would have been like had Freedom been the town John and Mary Winchester had always wanted it to be. He’d only ever known the town through the eyes of the club. 

They drove another fifteen miles and stopped at another dive, had another drink, played a game of darts, got back on the road. The club was all grins and good natured shit talking at every stop they made. It wasn’t until hours later, after they’d turned south for a while and east again, that any of the good vibes changed. The sun was starting to set at their backs when they made what Sam planned on being their final stop.  
Dean grinned at his brother as they walked in and sat down; he was in a good mood and the pretty girls in the bar helped that. He turned the grin on the dark haired girl next to him who’d huffed out a laugh at their conversation. She smiled back but returned her attention to the busty redhead she was with. Dean saw her glance at him every once in a while though. It was twenty minutes later when he got the chance to talk to her, but before he could take it, Sam nudged him with an elbow. 

“Cas is about to win enough to pay for the entire day.”

Cas was at the pool table with a totally neutral look on his face while the man he was playing looked despairingly. His opponent missed a shot by a millimeter, and Cas responded by making one so difficult that even Ash looked impressed from where he was at the juke box. 

“Your friend’s good,” the girl said, making up for the lost chance of Dean starting a conversation. Dean fell into flirting with her easily, and was moments away from trying to get her into the back when he heard Sam’s sharp intake of breath.

“Oh shit,” he muttered. Dean turned to look at him and then followed his gaze to where it landed at the entrance of the bar.

Dean would have recognized the man in the door even if he hadn’t been wearing the leather vest with the patch that proclaimed him President. Light hair, light eyes that looked yellow in the right lighting, he was the head of the Knights of Hell motorcycle club and went by the name Azazel. That’s all anyone ever called him. Any speculation over his real name was quashed as soon as he heard it happening, sometimes with a sharp word, sometimes with a well-placed gun barrel.

The rest of his club walked in behind him and Dean could feel his lip curl up in a sneer at the sight. It was clear that the rest of the club had noticed the others walking in, as Gordon and Rufus and Bobby subtly made their way next to Sam. They sat and tried not to look as defensive as they obviously were. Cas looked up, quickly sank the 8 ball, slid the money he was owed off the table and joined them. Ash followed. The girl that had been flirting with Dean grabbed her purse and left without even coming up with an excuse. Dean didn’t care.

“Well, well. This could get awkward,” one of the men behind Azazel said. Dean’s jaw twitched. The very sound of Alistair’s voice, with its nasality and constantly condescending tone, made Dean itch for some sort of weapon to use against the man. He especially hated seeing a patch that corresponded to his on the man’s cut; as though such a man being allowed to be sergeant of arms cheapened the position. 

“No reason for it to,” Bobby huffed. He hated them too, but he had to try to keep the peace. “We’re having a drink is all. Why don’t you do the same?”

“Maybe we’re here on business, Singer. So why don’t you mind your own?” the man who spoke up had gone to high school with Sam. They’d been friends; Dean remembered thinking that Sam would bring him around and try to get him into the club when he himself joined. Just went to show what Dean knew.

“Fuck off, Brady,” Sam spit out. Sam had never forgiven the boy for the betrayal of joining the Knights of Hell. He was the quickest member of that club to get a rise out of Sam and sometimes Dean thought the club used that to their advantage whenever they wanted to start a fight. Now seemed like one of those times. 

“You can’t talk to our president like that. Show some respect.”

“I’ll talk to him however I want with your broke fucking club. And I didn’t talk to your president that way. Your president’s in a jail cell, probably being somebody’s bitch‒”

And that was it. Dean swung, fist connecting solidly with Brady’s jaw and it was a bar fight. Dean ducked the punch Brady tried to land but got hit by the fist Jake Talley threw into his gut. Sam threw his elbow out and connected with Alistair’s face while he was swinging at Gordon. Garth sent out a ridiculous karate chop and somehow managed to catch a rat-like Knight named Ansem in the throat. Gordon jabbed out and hit Talley and it continued on in that vein until Bobby could drag them apart from each other. He’d gotten a hit in, knocking the Knights’ bookkeeper, Crowley, on his ass when he’d tried to sneak up behind the fracas and get Sam in the kidneys.

Gordon had a busted lip, and so did Dean. Sam knew his eye was rapidly turning purple. Cas would have bruises on his ribs the next day and Ash’s knuckles were bleeding. Garth looked slightly dazed like he’d maybe gotten caught in the back of the head. Bobby and Rufus remained unscathed, as did Azazel on the other side. Bobby had his hand curled in the back of Dean’s cut. 

“I’ll call the cops if you don’t get out of here in the next minute,” the bartender said. It was obvious she had her hand on a gun under the railing. “And I won’t have you fight in my parking lot, so you boys get out of here first. You assholes wait here. And order a damn drink so I get some business for the trouble.” The way she said it reminded Sam of Ellen on a bad day and he nodded at her. Bobby pushed Dean out ahead and Sam saw his brother have to hold himself back from spitting the blood from his lip at Brady when he walked past him. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said as soon as the group was out the door. 

“You oughtta be,” was Bobby’s response. “Ain’t no reason to be getting into bar fights.”

“The fact that they’re all grade-a scumbags seems reason enough,” Gordon said. He said it as though it was just a fact and not a defense of Dean, and it seemed like a fair point.

Bobby just shook his head. “Ain’t no reason to be starting a bar fight.”

“I said I was sorry.” No one really seemed too upset except Bobby and even then, it was obvious Bobby was upset as acting president, not as himself. Dean sent an apologetic look at Sam from his bike and Sam shrugged.

“Seem like enough excitement for the night?” Sam asked to the group as a whole. When he got a few nods, he nodded back. “Then let’s go home.”

The first fifteen minutes of the ride seemed more subdued than they had, but a seeming caravan of pick-ups honked and hollered at them as they drove past as they went by a sign proclaiming them 100 miles to Lawrence. A girl in one hung half out the cab and lifted her shirt, baring her breasts at the group and it was much harder to remain mad after that. The revelry that they’d felt earlier was back. Sam pushed his bike faster, egging the rest of the club to keep up. When he pulled into a gas station 50 miles outside Freedom, the club disembarked with laughs.

“More women need to be like that,” Ash declared with laughter and statements of assent following. Sam shook his head and left the pump so Cas could fill up.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon and their headlights were the only light they saw for miles upon miles. Kansas at night was a different place; no verdant fields that promised new life, no blue sky that begged to be raced into. It was darkness, with even darker shapes in the distance that reassured you the land you loved was still there, but on the back of a Harley with a bar fight in your mirrors, it didn’t take the time to guarantee you’d see it tomorrow when the sun broke over the world again. 

But the roadhouse shone up ahead. The club descended upon it, happy to have spent the day on the road but equally happy to have some place to return to. 

“It was a good ride, Sam,” Cas said when they’d all parked. Despite the bar fight they’d gotten into, no one in the club disagreed. The rest of the club somehow made sure that Sam was the last one in and he smiled, but still rolled his eyes when he saw that Ellen had let them take the place over. The banner they’d hung on the side of the van that had made it to Sturgis the last year they went was taking up the east wall and helmets hung from one of the racks of pool cues and John’s bike gleamed in the corner by the juke box. Sam had no idea how they’d gotten it in there, but it seemed to be good for business, people wandering over to look at the intricate paint work of the club design and the engravings on the fork and putting money in the juke because they were there. 

“You made table cloths?” Sam asked when he realized there was black fabric with club symbols decorating a number of the tables in the center of the bar. 

“It was an easy paint job, especially for Cas. Totally Pamela’s idea,” Dean shrugged.

“Don’t act like you don’t like them, Sam,” Pamela admonished as she snuck up behind him and pinched his ass. 

“They’re great, thanks, Pamela,” Sam told her with a grin. 

“I can get you anything else that’s great, you let me know, birthday boy,” she flirted at him. She managed to bend to flash him even more cleavage as she said it before sauntering away.

“You’d think by now you’d just give in and sleep with her,” Jo said at his elbow.

“Who says I haven’t?” He heard Dean snort at the bar. Jo looked taken aback then rolled her eyes. She tugged at his cut and he leaned down to compensate. 

“Happy birthday, Sam,” she said as she kissed him on the cheek.

“Man, Sammy, you’re getting a lot of action today, aren’t you?” Dean cracked.

“Fuck off,” Sam breathed with a chuckle, setting himself on the stool next to his brother. “The place looks good, Ellen,” he told her when she was standing in front of the two of them with a bottle of Jack Daniels. She put a row of shot glasses up on the table.

“Wasn’t me. Who knew this group was all hiding Martha Stewart under those leathers.” She poured twelve shots out of the bottle. “I swear, Rufus and Bobby almost swung on each other over how to hang that damn banner. I thought Garth was going to have to break ‘em up.”

They were laughing over the idea so hard they didn’t even notice when those two showed up around them with Cas and Ash and Gordon and Garth as well. Ellen gathered her composure enough to gesture to Pamela and Jo. “Adam, you come out here, too, honey. You can switch out in the kitchen now that the party’s here.” Adam followed her request and nodded to the club members as he did. 

“Sorry we had to ditch you all day, kid,” Dean said.

“I’ve had worse days than being in a bar full of women,” he replied. He smirked at Dean’s raised eyebrow.

“He might be more like Dean than you are, Sam,” Gordon pointed out as the club laughed at the exchange. Sam was in too good of a mood to let the idea bother him. Besides, he’d known the kid three weeks; it was too soon to feel middle child jealousy. 

“To Sam,” Dean started when he’d finished passing the shots around. “Making it out of the 27 Club.”

“I’m not a rockstar, Dean,” Sam said. 

“Take the toast and shut the fuck up, little brother.”

“To Sam,” the party echoed. They downed the shots and at a celebratory yell from Ash, the party started in full swing. 

An hour and a half later the only person who wasn’t drunk or about to get there was Cas. Even Ellen seemed to have a buzz on behind the bar, if the number of times she let Bobby lean across it and kiss her were any indication. Somewhere along the line the entire roadhouse had gotten into the party. Dean had convinced a foursome table of women to buy a round of shots for the club and currently had his arms on the back of the booth they were in, seated between the two more attractive of them. The one on his left looked like she was going to try to get him to dance but before she could, he was shouting at Ash, who was shotgunning a can of beer at the dartboard. Rufus was using Gordon to hold himself up, wheezing in laughter about something the younger man was saying about Garth. The star of that story was sloppily affectionate, his arms currently thrown around Cas in a hug. Cas didn’t seem to mind too much, as he gently extracted himself and sat the prospect down on a stool. Sam was in conversation with Adam and Jo having sat down from being dragged to the area of the bar that doubled as a dance floor by her and Pamela moments ago. He’d sat down as quickly as possible. Adam and Jo somehow began to continue a conversation they must have started earlier in the day and she stood up, wobbling slightly, and dragged Adam to a pool table. Sam laughed at the way she shoved a pool cue into his hands and was surveying the bar with drunken joy when the door opened. 

“I told you I’d be back, Sam,” the woman said when she reached him. 

“Ruby,” he said in response. The boots she had on made her seem taller than Sam remembered her as being. Part of his brain also couldn’t help but think of what they’d feel like wrapped around his waist.

“I’m glad you remember my name.”

“Well, you made an impression,” he said as he gestured to Ellen.

“Tequila sunrise,” Ruby answered when the older woman asked what she could get for her. Turning back to Sam she asked, “What’s with the party?”

“Well‒”

“It’s my brother’s birthday. Don’t make him go home alone this time,” Dean interrupted. He stole the shot Ellen had poured for Sam and kept walking. Sam looked at him agape.

“Not very subtle, is he?”

“Dean never is,” he finally answered. “Sorry.” Ruby shrugged in response.

“What do you want for your birthday, Sam?” she asked. Sam couldn’t help but smirk in response.

“I don’t know, yet.”

“Well why don’t I stay until you figure it out?” So she did. Their conversation was easy, sometimes interrupted by club members, once by the fact that the juke boxed switched over to Kansas and no club member was allowed to not belt along, by Garth’s hammered request. Sam grinned the entire time, and Ruby had a smile on as she watched. She laughed at him when he was finally able to simply speak again. It didn’t seem like the party was winding down at all, and Sam knew half the club would end up passed out in varying places around the bar. It was par for the course. Dean had disappeared somewhere with one of the women he’d been flirting with all night and Cas had pulled him into a hug with a “happy birthday,” and bid him goodnight about fifteen minutes ago. The rest of them were still going strong. 

“Are you going to be able to drive home, birthday boy?” Ruby smirked at him. He didn’t know what beer he was on even though he’d slowed down.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I slept here.” Sam took another drink with a shrug. 

“Let me get you home.”

He turned to look at her full on, swiveling the barstool slightly. She was fiddling with her straw, not nervously, just swirling the red in her drink into the orange, muddling the sunrise to a flat shade. She looked back at him steadily, her eyes not hiding anything. She cocked an eyebrow up at him.

“Come on, Sam. Don’t pretend you don’t want to.” She slid a hand onto his leg. He wasn’t ever going to say no to begin with.

“Ellen, fuck with them in my place when they fall asleep, alright?” he called to her. She looked like she was going to say something about him leaving his own party, but she thought better of it, eying Ruby who’d stood up next to him. 

“You ride safe, Sam,” was all she said. He nodded to her and Ruby’s hand was on his back pushing him towards the door. He didn’t think anyone else noticed he was leaving. His hand was in his pocket reaching for his keys when they crossed the threshold of the bar. The door slammed and suddenly Sam had the wind knocked out of him.

“Whoa, hey‒” he started with his back against the wall. Ruby’s hands on his chest pinned him there and she was curling them into the leather that hadn’t left his back all night. She pulled his shoulders from the wall and her lips were on him. There was nothing tentative in the kiss; it was hard and hot and it had to slow down. Sam put his hands on her waist and tried to gently back her up. “Slow down.”

“Why?” 

She didn’t give him time to answer. She had one hand in his hair and one at his hip, tracing up under his shirt and was kissing him again, tongue darting into his mouth when he opened it to get a breath. She tasted like the drinks she’d had and he was positive that he’d get hard if he tried to drink tequila anytime in the next month with the sense memory of the way her nails scratched lightly at his back and her hips rocked toward him wantonly. 

“Because I’m not gonna fuck you against the wall of our bar,” he finally answered when he gained enough self-control back to pull back from her. “And don’t ask why.” He cut her off before she could. 

“If I really wanted you to, you would. But fine, we’ll do it your way.” She reached into her pocket with the hand that had been in his hair.

“We’ll take the bike.” He paused when she looked at him with a somewhat annoyed question on her face. He half smiled at her, “You wanted to ride it, didn’t you?”

“I wanna ride you,” she told him, the hand that had been under his shirt trailing down to the front of his jeans. He sucked in a breath and grabbed at her hand before she got carried away. 

They were taking off down the road in moments, Sam trying to keep the bike steady and Ruby pressed herself against his back and tucked her hands into his shirt, hooking her thumbs under the waistband of his jeans. He’d driven his bike on the wrong side of the legal limit a number of times despite his best efforts not to, but the way Ruby seemed intent to keep her fingers moving made it more difficult than usual. Thankfully, they pulled up to Sam’s place quickly.  
Ruby’s hands found his belt loops again as soon as he was off the bike and when he unlocked the door, she entered the house first and pulled him in after her. She had him against the door and was back at his mouth and this time Sam kissed her back just as hard. His hands tangled in her hair and her teeth nipped at his bottom lip. He moved one of his hands and cupped her ass and she moved against him again. She tugged his cut off and discarded her own jacket, throwing it into the next room. Her legs wrapped around his waist when he picked her up and they kissed, gasping into each other’s’ mouths for air, the entire time Sam carried her to his bedroom. Somehow they managed to get his shirt off on the journey as well and Sam knew he’d been right about how the leather of her boots would feel around his waist. 

Sam set Ruby on his bed and she tugged him down with her, pushing his shoulder so he wound up on his back and she swung her leg over to straddle him. His hands came up to her waist and traveled under her shirt, finding her bra clasp quickly. She ground down on him, feeling exactly how turned on he was, when he’d undone the hooks and slid his hands to cup her breasts. She took her shirt and bra off in one motion and Sam sat up fully, mouth going to the column of Ruby’s neck and rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger. Ruby pushed herself closer to him and Sam was forced to move his hands, one curling in her hair and one finding the negligible space between their bodies to unbutton and unzip her jeans. He undid his as well. They divested each other of the denim, and Ruby of her boots unfortunately, and Sam slid a hand into the delicate silk panties Ruby had on. 

His fingers parted her labia and were coated in her slickness. His thumb dragged against her clit and she let out a small gasp. His own hips bucked in response and he let his fingertips slip into her pussy, thumbing at her clit again as he did. As he moved deeper into her, Ruby kissed him again, forcefully, lips meeting his with bruising intensity and teeth clamping down and tongue diving into his mouth. She was moaning as she did. Sam felt her legs trembling slightly after moments of circling her clit and pumping his fingers into her.

“Enough foreplay; fuck me, Sam.” Ruby pulled back long enough to groan out. Her hips were still moving as she said it and Sam removed his hand from her. She whined at the loss, but Sam was busy rolling a condom on so he couldn’t remedy it immediately. Before he could move to bring her back to the edge she’d been at, Ruby had positioned herself over him and was holding her thong to the side to sink down onto his cock. He let out a low hiss. “Feels good in there, doesn’t it?” Sam didn’t respond, just kissed her and wrapped his arms around her, one hand at the back of her neck and one at the small of her back. Ruby moved her hips slowly, raising up so he almost left her completely and inching back down. The edge of her underwear caught at him a few times, but the soaked material was slick and drove him wild. 

“I thought you said enough foreplay.” The statement was punctuated by a groan on Sam’s part as Ruby fit against him snug. She smirked in response.

“I did. So fuck me.” 

Sam took her hands off of his chest where she was getting the leverage she had to control the pace and moved them behind her back, folding them over each other at the curve of her ass. One hand circled her wrists and he put the other on her hips. His snapped up, again and again, quickening and roughening the pace Ruby had set before. She was keening as he bounced her on his dick and he bit and sucked into the juncture of her neck and shoulders. He moved his hand on her hip to rub at her clit, off rhythm to how he was still moving in and out of her and it only took seconds for her to be shaking. She let out a long cry and her muscles clenched around Sam. He fucked her through it, chasing his own climax and Ruby’s first slid into her second and she clamped down even tighter around Sam and he was gone. Orgasm hit him and his hips seized up, pushing him as deep into Ruby’s cunt as he could go. 

Sam fell back, laying down and pulled Ruby down with him. She moved her one leg and lied down beside him. Sam straightened her panties out when he noticed they’d remained crooked. She smiled at him lazily and he fell asleep with her nails scratching lightly at his chest. 

Sam woke up hours later with the sun streaming in through the window and Ruby gone, sheets tangled at the bottom of the bed. It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up alone and while part of him was almost hurt by it, most of him just stretched and groaned at the headache he knew would last all day. He got up to get coffee, tugging jeans on as he went. He’d never gotten out of the habit after living with someone else. And it wasn’t as though Dean wouldn’t show up some mornings to see how he was feeling after a party and drag him off to work or club business or something.

“You’re still here,” he said in shock when he got into the kitchen. Ruby was standing at his sink with a glass of water. She looked as good as she had last night even without her leather boots on and the new presence of fingertip shaped bruises around her wrists. 

“I thought grand theft motorcycle seemed a little much for a second date. I wouldn’t be able to ride that thing with those handles anyway. You’re freakishly tall.” Her throat distracted him as she took a gulp of water. “Not that it doesn’t have its advantages.”

Sam looked down with a smirk.

“Put on a shirt and take me to my car.”

“You don’t want breakfast? Or coffee or something?” Ruby laughed.

“No, I’m alright. I’m not gonna disappear on you, Sam. I even put my number in your phone.”

“Okay, good.” So Sam had an excuse to walk into the roadhouse and see the varying states of ridiculousness that were his brothers, literal and through the bond of the club. They were pissed when he plugged the juke box in and it blared to life, waking them up with Foreigner.

“Oh, fuck you, Sam,” Dean groaned as he woke up. It was seconded by everyone.

Sam couldn’t bring himself to care.


	5. On the Border

Adam still wanted in, and he told Dean and Sam this two weeks later, days before the club would meet at the table again. Dean rolled himself from under the car he was working on and Sam looked up from the case he was trying not to be distracted from. They looked at each other, saying more than they would have out loud at the moment. 

“You sure?” Dean asked finally, sitting up and wiping off his hands. 

“Yeah,” was all Adam replied. No justification, no reasoning; he didn’t feel the need to defend this decision, as it was his to make.

“You need a bike before we can even bring it up to the table,” Sam chimed in. Adam opened his mouth to say something, but closed it when he noticed the look his older half-brothers were giving each other. Sam stood up from the bench and held out a hand to Dean when he reached him, helping him up. 

“Lucky for you, we know a guy,” Dean smirked.

“And we’d maybe already figured you’d say it eventually.” With a jerk of his head, Sam indicated that Adam ought to follow the two of them as they headed out the backdoor of the garage that lead to the back edge of Bobby’s salvage yard. 

Adam hadn’t yet had a reason to be there but it was exactly how he’d imagined it. The place was full of rusted out junkers, none of which looked like they were even worth keeping around as scrap metal in his mind. But further up, he could see that the rust got less pervasive and the cars got newer and the presence of plants growing through the floorboards was diminished as well. Some of the parts were barely recognizable to Adam, torn out of their vehicles the way they were, but he was able to tell when they reached a portion of the yard that was dedicated solely to motorcycles. Bobby was more organized than he would have thought, with the man’s seemingly ever present washed out t-shirt and trucker cap. 

When they came to a stop, Adam raised his eyebrows. “What the hell even is that?”

“Hey, she’s a little broken up right now, maybe a little rough around the edges, but this softtail’ll be a good bike. Somebody in the club had one for a minute and it was a beauty before they upgraded. Who was it?”

“Cas had one when he first showed up,” Dean answered. “Sam’s not wrong. She’ll be a good bike if you can get her fixed up. Bobby’s got the parts.”

“So, I’m making myself a Franken-bike,” Adam responded, still staring at the thing.

“If you want to make yourself one yeah, but we figured we’d help you get it done. Unless you don’t want to be wearing a cut in two weeks.” Sam shrugged like he was trying to be nonchalant. 

Adam turned his head to look at the two of them. “Two weeks?”

“We’d have to bring it up this week, but we couldn’t make it official until we called for an extra meeting next week. We don’t keep this shit on hand, man, not in Freedom. It’s been almost a year since Garth showed up and it was two years before that that Cas came through on his softtail. We’re a small club, we don’t pretend we’re not,” Dean explained. Adam nodded in understanding. He went back to looking at the motorcycle in front of him. “You want the bike or not?”

“Yeah, I want it. You gonna give me a deal?”

“Pay for the new parts and do the labor. That’s what you can get it for.”

“Bobby hasn’t touched the thing since it’s been in his yard, he already told us he won’t miss it,” Sam reassured.

“Well, alright. When can we get started?”

Sam broke into a small grin. “Get her to the garage.” 

*** 

“Shit, Ruby,” Sam groaned when the girl’s teeth bit into his chest on her way back up his body. For the sixth time in the weeks since his birthday, the two were intertwined, sheets tangling at the bottom of Sam’s bed. His hand threaded through her dark hair as she brought her mouth to his. She opened her mouth over his nearly immediately and kissed him deeply; Sam could taste himself on her as surely as she could taste herself on him and she sighed contentedly when they parted. She slid off of him and propped her head up with her hand, lying on her side. Her one hand traced lazy shapes on Sam’s torso, outlining the roses that ran up his ribs. One day she’d ask what was with the rose motif, but today wasn’t that day. He turned his head to look at her and brought his hand to her face, thumb catching her lip briefly. “Where did you even come from?”

“Hell,” she smiled. “You found the daughter of the devil himself.” 

Sam smirked back at her with a shake of his head. “That’s too bad. Tend not to like the denizens of hell.”

“I’ve never heard a guy use the word ‘denizen’ so soon after orgasm. You’re a special one, aren’t you?” At his ridiculous grin, she softened a little. “You are something special, Sam Winchester.”

“I’m not. I’m a mechanic in a motorcycle club who takes a law class every now and again. I’m not a standout in any of those places.” He’d turned onto his side to mirror her position. He huffed out a laugh, not explaining why. She didn’t ask.

“You do great things, in all of those places, I’m sure. That club loves you; they wouldn’t make such a deal out of your birthday if they didn’t.”

“You should have seen what they did for Rufus’s 60th last year. He helped make this club, though. I’m not doing a damn thing for it.” Ruby quirked an eyebrow at him in annoyance. “I know that sounds dramatic, but we’re not in a good place right now. We’d be doing better if I could have just finished my law degree when I started it. If I could have stuck Stanford out after…” he trailed off.

“Who knows, Sam, maybe you’ll find a way to save your club, from whatever it is that seems to make you think you’re not in a good place. What’s that even mean, anyway? You’re being a drama queen” she sat up and turned her back to him to put her feet on the floor and reach for her jeans. She had a line of script tattoo along her spine and Sam had never taken the time to try to read it. It was in a language he didn’t understand anyway.

“What’s that tattoo even mean, anyway?” he mocked back at her. When she stood and pulled her jeans up, she shot him a look over her shoulder. “But seriously, what’s it mean? It’s German right?”

“I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours,” she said pulling on her shirt. Sam’d be distracted by her nipples showing slightly through it for the rest of the day and Ruby knew it. He nodded. It’s not like it was a club secret that they were broke, and if it was supposed to be, it wasn’t one that it would hurt Ruby to know. Hell, he thought, we ought to try to get all the advice we can. 

“‘Whatever is the lot of humankind, I want to taste within my deepest self,’” she answered. “It’s‒”

“Geothe. I’ve read Faust, just not in German.” He was still lying in bed, naked and she was standing with a hand on her hip.

“Tell me what you meant when you said the club is in a bad place. And get dressed, I’m starving. I want some of those damn French fries at the club.”

“That’s technically not the club, that’s Ellen’s Roadhouse‒”

“Whatever,” she muttered under her breath. 

“I meant we’re broke.”

“Why?”

“There has to be a reason? Look at this town. We’re small-town America, middle class as they come, and we make our money by asking people for their extra. We’re even more fucked than everyone else.”

“But you haven’t been broke always,” Ruby pointed out as Sam finally started to get dressed. “What’s different now?”

He was silent while he pulled on his clothes. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and responded “Club business.”

“Is that code for you can’t tell me?” The look he gave her was reply enough. “How am I supposed to help you if you won’t tell me how to?”

“I don’t really expect you to help us. I appreciate that you want to, but you can’t really.”

“You don’t know that, Sam,” she said defensively.

“I don’t want you to, then.”

“You mean that you don’t want me to get involved with your illegal shit. I’m not stupid.” She was walking out of his bedroom expecting him to follow and he did. 

She was still talking as they were heading out the door, Sam grabbing his leather off the counter where he’d thrown it in a rush to disrobe earlier. “I wasn’t ever under the impression that you weren’t an outlaw club. So relax if you think you did something to give it away.”

“Ruby,” he started but she cut him off. She was at the door and turned around to look at him. Her head was tilted, chin up slightly so her look screamed that it was a challenge of sorts.

“What do you move?”

“Nothing.” The lie was obvious, but it didn’t matter. There was no way that he was telling her anything about this, not now, not two weeks and some change in to a relationship that seemed to be purely sexual so far. Not that Sam was really complaining about the frequent rate that he was getting laid, but this conversation had veered far from safe, or enjoyable, topics. If her look had been a challenge, Sam wasn’t getting sucked into that game. 

“You might want to think about telling me the truth, see if I could help you in anyway. You don’t know everything about me, you know.” The sky was a hazy, humid blue when she finally opened the door to leave. It’d be a good day for a ride that was too fast and made her squeeze her arms around him too tight in a manner that’d make him want to drag Ruby into the apartment above the clubhouse and fuck her against a wall. That wouldn’t happen though‒ or it couldn’t. Sam wasn’t going to let himself fall into trying to prove anything to her. What that would prove, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t sure it was something he wanted to say, either way. 

The ride seemed fast and Sam sweat through his t-shirt with Ruby clinging to his back against the leather. He suddenly wanted a beer, badly. Ruby seemed ahead of him when they walked into the Roadhouse, ordering a gin and tonic despite the fact that it was only almost 2 in the afternoon. Sam supposed it wasn’t really that strange considering they’d been acting like teenagers with the house to themselves earlier in the day; it wasn’t as though he could judge either. Ellen was behind the bar and Ruby studiously ignored her smile, taking her drink and sliding into a booth. Sam gave an apologetic look as he took the beer she’d brought him and paid. Her lips were pursed as Sam turned away, as though she had meant to tell him something.

“You didn’t want to sit at the bar?”

“I can’t have 15 minutes to have you to myself before you go off to your meeting?” At Sam’s look she went on, “I don’t think our conversation was done and she can always hear everyone if they’re at the bar. She’s got to have dirt on everyone who has ever been in this place.” Sam didn’t think she was wrong about that.

“Ruby, our conversation was done. Hey, Jo,” he transitioned. Jo gave him a look that told him she would ignore whatever it was going on between him and the dark haired girl with him. 

“If you want food before your meeting, it probably won’t get done, Sam, sorry. I can put something in and have Pamela wait to put it on, if you want though.”

“You can’t get fries done in 15 minutes?” Ruby asked in disgust.

“Oh, we can get that right out to you if that’s all you wanted,” Jo answered, straining to remain polite. But she had done this for years, and had dealt with everything from leering old men to their wives who acted as though they thought Jo would actually give them the time of day. And Ruby certainly wasn’t the first girl who was sleeping with a club member and acted like Jo threatened her hold. She turned to Sam with a much more relaxed countenance. “Do you know why Adam said he couldn’t work until later today? I mean, I know he’s staying with Dean right now, but I thought you might know.”

“I’m sure he’ll tell you when he comes in. Why?” Sam looked at Jo with teasing in his eyes and she colored, barely but enough for someone who knew her as well as Sam did to notice. 

“Curiosity is all. I’ll get those fries out to you shortly.” She turned back to Ruby as she said it, the small smile she’d had falling.

Ruby rolled her eyes when Jo left. She didn’t wait for Sam to admonish her. “Look, just let me help.”

“Why do you want to, anyway? Not that many girls any of us hook up with really ever care about the club.” Sam didn’t mean for it to sound cruel, but Ruby’s face certainly told him that it did sound that way. He amended “I didn’t really mean it like that.”

“You’ve got a fucked up sense of self, don’t you? Whatever, just let me know when you decide to get over whatever stupid pride is keeping you from letting me help.” 

Sam didn’t know how to respond, but he was saved from doing so when Dean and Adam walked through the door. Dean jerked his head at Sam to follow when he noticed his brother sitting with Ruby. He didn’t acknowledge that the woman was even there and Sam was grateful. After the way they’d behaved toward each other when Ruby had first showed up, no matter what Dean had said at Sam’s birthday, Sam suspected that his brother wasn’t a big fan of the girl; he certainly hadn’t expected her to still be coming around, he was sure.

Sam got up from the table and Ruby didn’t bother saying anything to him; Sam knew she’d be sitting right where she was, another drink in her hand when he got done. It had been stupid of her not to drive himself, he thought. If she wasn’t going to drop this topic, then he wouldn’t want to be around her very much longer during the day. 

As John Winchester’s three sons walked through Ellen Harvelle’s bar, none of them could help but think about the man. Dean wondered exactly how pissed off he’d be knowing that Mary’s boys were letting another person with Winchester blood pledge to spill it for a band of tattooed motorcycle riders with whiskey on their breath and leather on their backs. Dean’d often wondered how Mary would have responded to her sons being part of that group, even though she had to have known, even though they were so young, that at least one of them would want to be in the safety of his father’s shadow in this respect. Dean may have been only four, but it was clear from the day he was born to anyone, that he was his father’s son and wanted to be just like him. Mary maybe had thought he’d grow out of it, or that John would grow out of the club or it would have died in the nearly 30 years since then, but she had seen the way Dean would stumble over words to ask John about the symbol inked on his shoulder and smile at the rumble of his father’s bike, recognizing it early, a sound unmistakably tied to the dark haired man that helped tuck him in at night. Some days, Dean was glad Mary wasn’t around to see what her eldest son had done in that shadow.

Sam could hear his father’s voice explaining exactly what he was getting into, how it was him making his choice when he put his name in for prospect consideration‒ “there’s no backing out, there’s no deciding this isn’t for you that won’t feel like a betrayal of your brother and a betrayal of me”‒ and John hadn’t lied. He’d told Sam to just stay gone when he left for Stanford, and that he had better have that tattoo covered if he ever ran into him again. At that point he’d been so angry with his father he didn’t care about the hurt that was underlying every word out of his mouth. But Dean. That hurt had been so much more surface, so much more obvious, and so much worse for Sam to deal with. But he hadn’t told him not to come back; he’d shoved the 200$ he’d had in his wallet at his little brother and told him to call if he got into trouble. Told him dad would calm down and let him back in and he’d clapped a hand right over the symbol on Sam’s shoulder. Dean had understood: Sam hadn’t not ever wanted in the club and he’d never thought about not coming back; he’d planned on sending dues money to them every month even while in Stanford. He hadn’t planned for his leather to ever leave his back, the whole trip out to Palo Alto. It hadn’t but not in the way Sam had intended; he’d thought he’d be 19, a year of club membership behind him with his president on the road ahead of the truck he’d be making his brother ride along in with him. Instead, he’d been 19, solo on his bike with a duffel and a backpack strapped to the Dyna with his leather showing to the world. He wondered if John wouldn’t have similar things to say to them now, about betraying their family, but by dragging Adam into this mess instead of trying to get out of it. 

Adam, quite frankly, didn’t care what John would have to say. He knew it’d be something, but he couldn’t help but think it did not matter one bit. John may have been trying to just look out for him, but he hadn’t been around at all while Adam was growing up. If he hadn’t been able to find the address for the garage, Adam would be alone in Minnesota, dealing with his mother’s death and bill collectors knocking at his door while he struggled to find a job. Here at least he had people around him. He had brothers. Brothers who made him laugh and helped him take his mind off how much he missed his life by keeping his hands busy with something he’d forgotten he loved. He had a place he could actually go work and make a little bit of money and talk with a pretty girl that he had no intention of being anything more than friends with but it was nice to have her smile at him and smile back. He had a place that maybe he could feel like he belonged for a second, and maybe, just maybe he could forget about worrying about the future, studying for a test in a way that’d make him go crazy and looking at medical school application requirements. The future he could worry about was making money to pay his dues to be in a club that would make him more money. He had no delusions about where the club was at right now, but he knew it’d be back on its feet, and he wanted to be a part of that. Needed to be to get his life on track. If someone had told him a year ago that he’d be planning on joining an outlaw motorcycle club to get his life on track, he wouldn’t have even been able to laugh it would have seemed so ridiculous. 

“You sure about this?” Dean was the one to ask. Adam nodded back when they were outside the door to the clubhouse. “Alright. We’ll come get you when it’s time then.” With a clap on Adam’s shoulder, both of them walked in. 

As it turned out, it was time awfully quickly. Adam had no idea what it was they talked about in a normal meeting, but it seemed to fly by, whatever it was that day. Dean opened the door and nodded at him without his face ever changing. Stepping into the room, Adam’s eyes sought Sam unconsciously, hoping for some sort of reassurance. He didn’t really find any. The men around the table were men he’d seen completely drunk off their asses belting along to classic rock less than a month ago, but here, he could see why the town of Freedom had more than one reason to dislike them on principle. They looked awfully serious seated around the black lacquered table, the scratches at the one end prominent with the club members closer to the head of the table where Bobby sat, sans trucker hat for once, gavel at his right hand. Dean was sitting back down and he looked to his vice president. 

“Rumor has it, you’ve got something you want to bring up to us, kid,” Bobby stated.

“Uh, yes, sir,” Adam responded. He realized his hands were clasped behind his back; he thought about moving them but had no idea what else to do with them. His roommate had stood like that whenever one of his fraternity elders came to check on him as a pledge. The thought made Adam feel like a child, but looking around, he recognized that he was in this room. “I’d like to be considered for prospective member status.” Sam had told him exactly how to indicate he wanted to be a member.

“State your full name for the record,” Bobby instructed. Adam’s reply was written down without ceremony by Rufus.

“Is there a Son who will vouch for Adam?”

“I will.” It was Sam who spoke up. John had been Dean’s sponsor, and Dean Sam’s, so it only felt right to the Winchester brothers that Sam sponsored Adam. 

“State your name for the record,” Bobby instructed again, this time to Sam. After Sam’s response, Bobby continued. “Let the record show that Samuel John Winchester will act as sponsor for Adam Daniel Milligan. His learning of our laws, rules, regulations, and responsibilities lies with all of us, but with his sponsor most of all.” Bobby’s eyes were on Sam as he said this. He looked at Adam again but it was Dean that spoke next.

“As part of our initial consideration, you have to prove you have no other club affiliations that will interfere with your loyalty to this club. Lift your shirt and turn around.” Adam balked at that; they hadn’t warned him. He saw Dean’s mouth twitch in a held back smile. He reassured him “Ink check.”

“It doesn’t matter that I’ve been living in your place?” he grumbled under his breath as he lifted his shirt anyway. Dean had known all they’d see was a small Celtic knot on his right shoulder, but-

“Rules are rules, kid.” Adam let his shirt fall and turned back around. “Sleeves up too.” When Adam had rolled his sleeves down and stated the make and model of the bike that he and Sam were nearly ready to put on the road, he was instructed to exit once again and wait. He didn’t know how long he waited outside this time, but he couldn’t help but think that he was being toyed with; there were only so many of them after all. The thought of them saying no hadn’t really even crossed his mind until that moment. He was determined not to let that thought show on his face when he went back in, summoned by Dean’s hand‒ recognizable by the ‘W’ ‘A’ ‘Y’ on his knuckles. He was exactly where he had been before when the silence of the table was broken.

“Your period of prospective membership will last anywhere from 9 to 18 months. You pay dues during that time period, literally and figuratively. We’ll have a cut for you sometime in the next week or so.” Bobby stopped talking. Adam didn’t realize he hadn’t changed facial expressions until the bearded man raised an eyebrow. “You can smile, you know, kid.” 

The smile on Adam’s face was sheepish, but the rest of the men around the table were smiling as well. 

“Go get to work, man, Ellen probably needs somebody to do their damn job instead of being back here,” Ash said. Adam turned to leave but even when he’d passed through the door could hear Bobby bang the gavel on the desk. It was muffled but he thought he could make out the acting president telling someone to “buy the kid a drink, even if he is about to get to work.” 

He supposed one of these days he was going to have to admit that he wasn’t actually 21.

***

Something was going on with Cas, Dean could tell. He'd been so caught up in his own stuff, between having Adam around in his place, taking up the space that Sam had until their father had gone to jail and Sam moved into that house to do the upkeep, and trying to figure out what the hell to do with the club and work at the garage, that he hadn't had a minute to actually be a good brother. In the symbolic sense at least. But Cas had been quiet, even Gordon had noticed, and he'd been distant. He had checked his phone more in public that he ever had and almost every time he did, he had some reason to leave wherever they were. Dean had to know.

"What's going on, man?" he asked plainly as they were filtering from the clubhouse to the bar. Cas looked at him with raised eyebrows, clearly questioning him right back.

"What's going on with what, Dean?" 

"You."

"Well, nothing. Nothing since we last talked earlier today at work. That shipment came in to Bobby, by the way. You'd already left to do whatever it was you were doing when he came by. You'll be able to finish Adam's bike now. I'll also be able to paint it."

"That’s not what I meant. You know that, Cas."

"Then I have no idea what you meant. I rarely ever do," he deadpanned. Dean's lip twisted up in a look of affectionate disgust. But they flattened out when he explained.

"You've been cagey as hell for weeks. What are you keeping secret?"

"I'm not keeping anything secret."

"You're always keeping something secret. You always have been. You basically told us when you asked to prospect in that you'd always have at least one secret and we'd just have to forgive you. I'm not asking for that, but I am asking for whatever's got you so, not here, lately."

"They're one and the same thing, Dean."

They were still standing by the door while having this conversation. It seemed fitting that Dean'd ask his friend to spill something he'd always kept in a room that was meant to have no secrets within it, just be a guard from the outside world. The club was built half on secrets, or secrets that would hide in plain sight. 

"They can't be. You've been here for years now without it being like this." Cas said nothing in return there. Dean sighed. "Look, I just want to know that you're alright, alright? Talk to me."

"I'm fine. I promise you that I am fine," Cas said earnestly. 

"If that's bullshit and you're not asking for someone's help, then I swear to god I'll beat your ass."

"If you swear to god for anything it might be a miracle," Cas retorted with a smirk. He pushed the door open and walked through it, Dean following behind him. That conversation would never go anywhere and Dean didn’t particularly feel like having it. 

"Oh, shut the hell up. It's not some weird religious thing right? Like, you haven't decided to throw us over for monks or anything?"

"What? No, of course not. I'm not the one who needs help right now.”

They’d reached the bar and saw that someone had taken Bobby’s semi-imperative and gotten Adam a beer. Gordon was clapping a hand on the young man’s shoulder with a congratulatory, and grateful, grin. Adam seemed to be taking whatever the older club member was saying as personal instructions the way he was grinning. Cas was glad of it in some ways.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean demanded, what Cas said finally catching up with him. 

“You’re the most defensive man I have ever met in my life. I didn’t mean you.” He loved the man like a brother, but Dean Winchester was exasperating. “And although I meant someone in particular, someone that I’m trying very hard to help, we all need it. This club needs help.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t do shit about that right now. But if there was something going on with you, I could help. I just wanted to remind you to ask.” Dean shrugged. 

“You want a drink?”

Cas’s face was flat in annoyance. Dean heard the tell-tale sound of a phone vibrating. “No. I have to go.”

“Where the hell are you always going lately? And who keeps contacting you? Aren’t all your friends right here?” But his friend was out the door and starting up his bike. As his Sportster came to life, he didn’t feel the need to explain yet. He would if he had to when the time came.

***

Adam paid his dues within a week, but things were not coming together on either side of the law fast enough for the club to stay afloat. If they kept up at the rate they were going, they'd be unable to pay for electricity in the clubhouse within three months. It may not have seemed like much, but it was. They'd made their livelihood on having enough money to survive, to give their members extra and it had never been a problem before. When the club had been founded, the money had been there and it'd been good and it had allowed them to live to a certain standard. Now, it seemed with three of their founders in jail, they couldn't handle it. The problem was they didn't even know who to ask for help. Bobby knew a guy, he said, who acted as middle-man for a lot of things, but even that connection wasn't working out at the moment. They didn't have anything, but if the club got something, they wanted to know if they could be of assistance is what Bobby reported back that next week. He'd seemed just as disgusted about that answer as the rest of the club was. There were only so many legitimate ways that the club as a whole could make money without spending a ton to buy into it on a gamble and where they were, they weren't comfortable with making that commitment.   
But Ruby was in the back of Sam's mind the whole time. He didn't want to get her involved and he didn't think she'd be able to help, but she hadn't been lying. He didn't know everything about her; hell, he barely knew anything about her that mattered really. Same way she didn't really know a ton about him. He knew she worked for a company out of Kansas City doing some sort of marketing, but he had no idea what. He didn't really care, either. But it certainly didn't seem like she'd be able to help with this. It was another few days before she brought it up again and Sam thought that he might be wrong.

They had cartons of Chinese food on their laps and Sam's shirt was the only thing Ruby had on. It fell to her mid-thigh and he could see the bruises he'd left on the upper part of her leg from early when she recrossed her legs to get more comfortable. 

"Why won't you just tell me what you guys moved before?" It was apropos of nothing and Sam thought he might actually choke on a piece of chicken and he scrambled to catch up to the way the conversation had turned. They had been talking about their experiences in college.

"Why do you care so much?" It seemed like a safe response. She chewed thoughtfully and set the container down on her bedside table before responding.

"I told you, Sam, I want to help." He still didn't really see the point there, but he gestured for her to continue. "I might be able to if I knew more."

"Ruby-"

"I know someone who might have something he wants moved out of town," she interrupted. She clearly didn't want him to keep putting her off, but her eyes were downcast and shifting. Sam sighed. There didn’t seem to be a reason to not hear her out in this instance.

“What’s the whole story?” She looked up finally, her eyes wide in thankfulness.

“Don’t say no right away,” she warned. “I want to help you and I think this could help.” Sam nodded. “No, Sam, promise you’ll actually listen to me.”

“I’ll listen to you if you really think this could help the club.”

“I know someone who needs some drugs moved. Across state lines, which his usual distributor won’t do.”

“We don’t have a problem going across state borders,” he told her after a moment when she seemed like she was waiting for him to shoot her down. He wanted to go on but she cut him off.

“The money’d be good. He’s not small time.”

“Who is he?” 

“You move h?” she asked archly. Sam looked taken aback. “Does it matter who he is right now if you’re not in his trade?”

“No, we don’t usually move drugs. We don’t want them around Freedom. There’s a reason we all hate the other crew in town.” 

“Well, you’re gonna have to get over that if you want to make any real money on this deal.” She no longer looked simply thankful for being heard. 

“You haven’t told me a damn thing about this deal yet, Ruby. How am I supposed to know if we want it? How am I supposed to know if I can bring it to the club? I need to know everything about this deal before I can tell you a damn thing.” He couldn’t help the annoyance that crept into his voice. 

“I’m trying to do you a favor, Sam, so why don’t you show me a little gratitude?” She’d picked her takeout back up sometime during the conversation and punctuated her sentence by pointing her chopsticks at him. He had the grace to look contrite. “I’m telling you, this could be the best opportunity you get for a while.”

“How do you know?”

“If you don’t move heroin, I’m betting you don’t move drugs at all, since this areas more of a meth place anyway, and it’s certainly not a coke neighborhood. And since your dad is in jail for arms trafficking‒ yeah, I looked him up finally. His name is everywhere in that bar‒ I’ve known for a bit that you moved guns. I wanted to see if you would just tell me that, but apparently not. But because he’s in jail none of your guys wants to deal, right?”

Sam suddenly thought that he might be smart to be terrified of the woman he was sleeping with. She wasn’t wrong; the information wasn’t particularly hard to get to, but the fact that the look on her face said she knew exactly how all of it fit together said a lot about her. Her eyebrow was raised expectantly. Sam just nodded. She nodded once and took a deep breath.

“Then let me tell you how you’re going to get your hands into something real and you, Sam Winchester, and your club are gonna survive this.”


	6. One Way Out

It was early when Sam got to the garage. Dean was already there trying to get the paperwork for the day in order. He seemed impossibly bored, which Sam was grateful for. He didn't want to bring this idea to anyone else quite yet, hoping Dean's approval would help the club as a whole approve. It wasn't that it wasn't a good plan, it was, Sam thought. It was a good offer, but he didn't want to be the only one to back it when he didn't know how much the club would love the idea of running drugs. But Dean wouldn't like where the plan came from. And he especially wouldn't like who the deal benefited. Nobody in Wayward Sons Motorcycle Club would. But they had to do something, and this seemed like a decent shot.

"Why you in so soon? I thought you were up doing some mock case report or something?" Dean commented when he finally looked up from the order forms he was examining. "You that gung-ho to work on that civic?"

"God, no," Sam laughed. They never seemed to get cars that either one of them wanted to work on and Dean lamented that fact constantly by berating the cars in the shop as soon as their owners were out of sight. Dean didn't ask again, just sent him a look. They'd spent too long communicating with each other wordlessly, on runs and creeping around behind John's back, Sam trying in vain to hide some of his underage tattoos and Dean sneaking cigarette breaks in his senior year, for Sam not to know what he wanted to say with the look. "I might have something for us."

"Like, money for the club, something for us or like someone actually owns a decent piece of automobile something for us?"

"I might have a deal we could potentially make for the club." Sam stated it and couldn't take it back so now he'd have to press on. Dean shook his head and raised a hand indicating he should go on. Sam inhaled. "You might hate it, but give it its due, alright? Hear me out."

"I'm all ears, little brother."

"I know we've never done it before, but what if we moved something other than our usual product?"

"Sam, at this point I'd move bobblehead dolls if it'd make the club any money. As long as it's not child porn or something, I'll hear you out. Quit with the foreplay, you big girl, just tell me."

"What if we could get in on a deal moving drugs. Into Missouri, into Iowa, into Oklahoma." Dean tilted his head and pursed his lips into a pout. His eyes narrowed a bit as well, but the expression left his face quickly when he answered.

"Drugs really ain't all that much worse than guns to me, man, but you know how Dad is about that shit. How he's had the club try to stay out of that."

"Yeah, well, Dad's in jail‒"

"I know that, Sammy, I mean the rest of the club knows how its president feels about it and it'll probably affect how they see it too. I'm not saying they probably couldn't be convinced, but it might take some doing is all."

Sam internally breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn't dismissed it outright. However, he knew his brother, and he wasn't going to let it sit there and ruminate now. After a moment Dean spoke up again.

"That's it, man? You haven't told me a damn thing. I mean, who's this with? How do you know about it? Is there an actual deal here or are you just talking out of your ass?"

"I'm not talking out of my ass, Dean. And I don't know all the details yet. We'd have to meet with the supplier and set it up. But obviously we can't do that without bringing it to the club." Dean nodded as though that was obvious. He couldn't tell that Sam was stalling, or if he could, he wasn't doing anything about it yet. Sam continued on then. "When can we bring it to the club do you think?"

"Whoa, whoa, you're jumping the gun a little bit, aren't you? You haven't told me who this is with, who it's for, anything, Sam. Just moving drugs across state lines which is fun enough, but who has the drugs for us to move?" Dean had the same look on his face that he would wear when Sam would come home from a date in high school and just tell him "yeah, it was alright;" it was a look that said he knew something else was going on and that he didn't like that Sam was avoiding telling him what. "Because the more I think about the more I think I know the answer and, Sammy, that is a bad idea, little brother."

"Dean-"

"It is. You want to deal with the same guy that the Knights of Hell get their shit from? Are you outside of your mind? It'd be declaring an all-out war with them, man! And he wouldn't even deal with us when he deals with them."

"Lucian Morgenstern would deal with us because Azazel and them won't cross the state line with product."

"How do you know how Lucifer Morgenstern is going to react to us? Jesus, Sam, you couldn't have just found us someone who wanted to move a little pot? Where'd you come up with this idea about Lucifer fucking Morgenstern? Like he's not the biggest player in the damn state and supplier for our rival and generally well, the devil. He's one grade-A son of a bitch and you wanna deal with him?"

"He's a business man," Sam started.

"Yeah, with a spoon in a number of drug filled pots. He's fuckin Michael Corleone in the Midwest.“ Sam acknowledged the truth in that statement with a small shrug and a head nod. 

"But that doesn't mean he's not a business man." 

"Who does business with our competitors. How do you know he'll deal with us? How do you know he wants something moved across borders?" It was silent between the two of them momentarily. Dean had gotten up from behind the desk and moved in front of it, closer to his brother. Sam moved so he was next to Dean, leaning on the desk. 

“Ruby.”

“Oh, what the hell does she have to do with this? She gave you this idea?”

“Yeah. She works for one of his companies. Apparently.”

“I don’t like that last word at all,” Dean said quieter than every other part of the conversation had been. He looked up and shook his head. “How does her working‒”

“She works for one of his legitimate companies on the record and she helps out with his other businesses as well. There’s a reason she doesn’t give a shit that she’s been spending so much time with an outlaw biker, Dean.”

“Good to know the bad boy type still works on the even worse girl,” he joked. It fell slightly flat, but only because they knew how heavy this situation was. Dean ran a hand down his face. “Sam, I know you’ve been spending time with her and all, but why did she even get involved here? Why’d you bring her into it?”

“I didn’t. She brought it up‒”

“That makes me even more nervous.” Sam stood up again and that, facing Dean full on and waiting until his brother met his eyes before he spoke again. He knew how this all sounded.

“Look, I know it’s not normal to hear for us, but she says she wants to help. She’s putting her ass on the line too.”

“But how much about this chick do you actually know? I mean, do you even know her last name?”

“It’s Proctor.” Dean rolled his eyes at Sam’s answer. “Just think about it, alright?”

“No. I need way more than what you just gave me to even think about trying to back you when you bring this up to the club.” Dean shrugged. He knew Sam was trying to help, but this seemed more like a gamble than anything that would actually be helpful. There was too much risk without knowing any of the details. He leaned a little as he continued, hedging what he’d said slightly. “Let me talk to Ruby myself. Tell her she’s got to get us more information before we can even take a meeting.”

Sam assented to that and thanked his brother for considering it; even if Dean said he wasn’t considering it, the fact that he wanted more information was telling. 

“If she says something I don’t like, I will shoot her though. I don’t care how often she’s fucking you.” Sam glared at his brother and Dean shrugged and sat back down. When he picked up another stack of paperwork that appeared to be receipts, Sam knew it was the end of that conversation for now. He gave a little slap to the door jamb on his way out of the office as a final thanks to Dean. It could be a start to something that would get them on their feet again and for that, Sam was incredibly happy.

***

Cas was finishing up the last of a bit of detail work he was doing on the back of pick-up truck a few days later when he heard Dean storm in before he saw him. He hadn’t thought his friend was supposed to be in that day. Dean passed by his work station and kicked a foot out at the creeper that was poking from under his toolbox more violently than really seemed necessary. While his brother didn’t look up, Cas did. Unfortunately, it was Sam he had something to say to.

“I really don’t like that bitch.” 

“And I really don’t care,” Sam replied without looking up still. His fingers moved deftly with the tools he was working with. Cas briefly tried to figure out what Sam was actually doing, but it was no use. Instead his eyes were drawn to Dean, who stood expectantly looking at his brother. He cleared his throat and Sam did finally look up. “What?”

Dean scoffed. He held his brother’s gaze for a beat and headed toward the office. Sam stood up and followed him without acknowledging annoyance or puzzlement or anything. Cas watched their retreating figure and prepared to strain his ears. It wouldn’t matter. The door to the office closed and he couldn’t hear a thing through it. Sam and Dean Winchester could be quiet in their secrets when they wanted to be.  
Cas heard the quiet buzz of his phone going off and set down the brush he was working with, the end immediately rolling to smear royal blue onto the bench. It wouldn’t dry before he had time to answer the phone.

“Hello?” he answered. He sat back down and wiped the paint from the bench with his thumb. 

“Are you busy?” desperation wracked the voice. Cas rolled his eyes.

“I’m at work, so yes.” A plaintive whine came from the other end at that. 

“But it’s urgent.”

“Like the last time was urgent?” His annoyance spilled into his voice, despite its usual calm. 

“Have you lost your sense of fun?” The desperation had left her tone.

“Listen, this is not how this sort of‒”

“Calm down. Just come see me would you? I’m sure the all-important paint job you’re doing can wait.”

Cas paused for a moment to see if she would go on. The speaker crackled a little as though she were adjusting the phone on the other end. 

“Is it really necessary?” he glanced at the door of the office; he could see their shadows through the shades that hid them. They were still so Cas’s attention turned back to the phone call. She still hadn’t replied. “I mean‒”

“Fine, fuck you, then.” The line clicked close. Cas almost wished for the days when a dial tone would drown out his thoughts. He stood and started to unbutton the smock he’d thrown on to cover his shirt. Slipping the phone into his pocket he walked to the office and knocked. He waited no time before opening the door.

“‒I’ll bring it to Bobby now. Act as the buff‒ What’s up, Cas?” Dean was saying. He turned his head as the dark haired man entered the room. Sam turned as well, brows smoothing out from the look he’d had on while Dean was talking. 

“I’m needed elsewhere. Do you mind if I finish this up and go?” Sam’s eyebrows then raised in surprise. Dean’s face held no such shock, only questions.

“Dude, what is going on?” he leaned back a little on the edge of the desk he’d been sitting on. His hip bumped a stack of papers and he looked down quickly and moved to catch it before it spilled everywhere onto the floor. 

“You have been somewhere else a lot lately, Cas,” Sam gently added. Dean nodded in vehement agreement. 

“Are you going to need me the rest of the day?” Cas repeated. Ignoring it seemed easier than trying to come up with a reason. Dean opened his mouth to respond with more demands, but Sam gave his head a small shake at his brother and Dean shut it again and licked his lips before looking back up.

“No, man, if you need to go, you can. But, you gotta give us something. You’re alright, right?”

“I am perfectly fine. I’ve told you this already.” He turned to go but Sam’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

“Cas, how would you feel about the club moving‒” Dean sputtered out sounds of protest before his brother could finish his question. “We might as well ask, Dean. See where everyone is at before we bring it to the table.” 

“If you’re about to ask how I’d feel about the club moving drugs, which seems the logical step when we can’t move guns, know that I’d vote no at the table,” Cas told him. He wasn’t going to wait for Sam to actually say it. Both men looked taken aback. “There’s very little either of you could do to change my mind there.” With that, he left the office, allowing the door to slam closed behind him. Sam and Dean looked at each other, Sam casting his eyes down before he could meet his brother’s again.

“That went well,” Dean drawled. 

“It doesn’t have to be a unanimous vote.” Dean looked at his younger brother hard. Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Just bring it to Bobby,” he pleaded. Dean sighed that he would and asked if he could handle the shop by himself a bit. When Sam nodded, Dean left to go to Bobby’s. 

***

Bobby had taken his hat off and scrubbed his face when Dean told him the plan. He’d shook his finger in Dean’s face and downed half his beer in a gulp when Dean told him who the plan was for and from, but he’d listened to Dean’s explanation. Dean had thrown their budget into the conversation and Bobby begrudgingly admitted that there wasn’t a better plan on the table. 

He sighed as he nodded that they’d address it at the next meeting. “But you explain it. And the club don’t need to know this plan came from the girl your brother’s with. The club don’t need to know this plan came from your brother and not you, even.” Dean hadn’t let the grimace he felt show on his face while he agreed. Bobby had broken out a bottle of whiskey and poured two fingers for each of them. They’d drunk it in silence.

Now he was banging the gavel on the table trying to call attention away from the conversation Ash and Gordon were having about the cleanliness of the bathroom in the apartment upstairs after Ash had crashed there for the weekend.

“You walk around out there with your shoes off and you’ll get tetanus” was Gordon getting the last word in. With that, everyone quieted down. Ash shot a good natured glare at Gordon and the dark-skinned man smirked back.

“How’s the prep going for this poker run, Gordon?” Bobby asked him. The smirk slid off his face and he responded.

“Just fine, we’ll make something from it. Not enough to replace our usual, but enough.” Bobby made an approving face. It seemed business as usual, running through updates on what they had planned for the next month‒ not much as of the moment‒ and where Mara Daniels was at with their men’s cases‒ not much farther than she had been‒ and how close any of them had come to the cops since their last meeting‒ Sheriff Mills had side-eyed Rufus when he’d stopped for a cup of coffee in The Last Outpost diner on the corner of Peace and Light street.

"Alright," Bobby started when they'd reached new business. "Now, it ain't new business that we're broke. But it is new business that we have an offer on the table that we ought to discuss that could get us out of that situation."

All the eyes in the room swiveled toward Bobby. It wasn't that the Sons hadn't been paying attention, it was just that they didn't all feel the need to be looking at Bobby the whole time he was talking. Cas had been smiling at something Dean had conveyed with just a look and Gordon had been giving a pointed look to Ash who'd thrown his feet up on the chair next to him, half turning around. But at Bobby's pronouncement, even Sam and Dean, who knew exactly what was coming, gave him their full attention.

"I know it's not usual protocol, but will someone go get our latest prospect?" Garth let out a small sound of surprise. "I know you think it ain't fair, Garth, but this is too big for the kid not to know. You knew what business we were in when you came in, and it's my decision to suspend that protocol, so I don't wanna hear it."

"Yes sir, it's your decision sir," Garth said in exaggerated deference before he made a motion of zipping his lips closed. Gordon rolled his eyes. Dean had gotten up to go get Adam and as the youngest man entered his eyes scanned around silently questioning each member in turn. When he got to Sam, his older brother gave a small smile and a shrug. He settled down into a chair opposite Garth and gave his attention to Bobby with his face totally open.

"Remember, I don't want any interruptions as your sergeant at arms explains this business. Let the man speak his piece and then we'll listen to your damn opinions." Dean cleared his throat when Bobby finished. Sam almost expected him to stand up. He looked nervous in a way that only his brother could recognize. His eyes were clear, the cold green they were when staring down a cop or a rival biker or a guy who didn't like the way Dean was looking at his girl, and his hands were as steady and they were when he fixed the Impala or hit the clutch on his Dyna or picked a lock. But there was a set to his lips that didn't remind Sam of any of those times.

"We can't move guns. We just can't right now and we all know that. We can't keep looking for a way around that-- Mills and the rest of the brass in this town have cut off every route we have to our usual suppliers and Freedom ain't big enough for us to go looking for other places; we don't have the time to set up something like that with the cops breathing down our necks. But we can move something else."

Dean paused to take a breath and he saw Cas's head cock to the side with his eyes narrowing slightly. It didn't matter; Dean had to press on.

"I know we've steered clear of it, and I know part of the reason we hate those sons of bitches with Azazel is that they bring shit into this town that it doesn't need or want, but we have the opportunity to make money in moving drugs. Out of this city, out of this state. We wouldn't be anywhere near Freedom."  
He paused again to gauge how people seemed to be feeling. It mostly looked like people had too many questions to even have an opinion yet. He braced himself for the reaction to what he was about to say.

"The whole reason we have this chance to deal is because the Knights of Hell won't cross state lines-"

"You're fucking kidding me," Rufus said under his breath. He stared right at Dean, not pretending to be apologetic for the small outburst. No one in the room pretended not to hear him, but they kept their eyes on the eldest Winchester son.

"Yeah, this deal would be with Lucifer Morgenstern. He's a grade-A scumbag who earned that nickname without shame, but he's also the only game in town for a while." Dean's hands were helping him speak at this point, a trait Sam knew he only had when he didn't think his words were working well enough. "He's a business man and we could do worse than to work with him."

"We wouldn't be working with one of his businesses, though, Winchester. We'd be in bed with the damn man." The outburst was Rufus again. He was shaking his head and his hands too were joining his speech. He had a finger cocked and pointed at Dean. "You want your daddy out of jail but you're asking us to get ourselves thrown in with him asking us to be bedfellows with that snake."

Dean was ready to respond but there was a bang from Bobby's gavel.

"Rufus, you wanna let the kid finish before you jump on his case, you old cuss?" The older man glared at Bobby but he set his hand back on the table and closed his mouth. Dean however didn't respond, but his lips fell into a flat line and his jaw ticked.

"We run the risk of getting thrown into jail with our normal movement too. That's why we need the lawyer we have on our team," Sam pointed out jumping in. Rufus' eyes softened a bit and Dean glanced gratefully at his little brother.

"Look, it isn't set in stone, but we have the chance to take a meeting with him and some of his people. That's all I wanted to bring to the table right now. Should we be willing to meet with the man?"

The only thing that could be heard in the room when Dean finished was the sound coming from the roadhouse and the traffic outside on the road. Someone pulled into the parking lot judging by the sound of gravel moving and a door slamming.

“If we can’t move guns, how can we move drugs?” It was Adam who broke the silence, made bold by his new status.

“The cops aren’t on us. For some reason, Mills thought we might not notice her if she concentrated her man power on watching the channels we move through instead of just watching us. Fortunately, we’re not that dumb.” Dean answered. Quiet settled in again. Bobby saw Ash bring a hand to the back of his neck, carding through the back of his hair and Cas chewed the side of a thumbnail. Rufus wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Why wouldn’t we meet with him?” Gordon spoke up. He spread his hands from where they’d been clasped in front of him. At the raised eyebrows he was getting he repeated. “Why not? We can tell ourselves all the pretty little fairytales we want about what we do, but we’ve always done illegal shit.”

“You can’t see the difference?” Rufus demanded. “When we made this club we didn’t want that.”

“And this club is 40 years old. Things change. You think the mothers of the sons killed in St. Louis in gang violence would see the difference in us selling the weapons that got their kids killed and moving drugs? I don’t,” Gordon retorted. Garth flinched a little and even Sam’s mouth turned down into a facsimile of a grimace.

“You want us to condone that?”

“What drug?” Cas asked putting a stop to the argument Rufus and Gordon seemed determined to get into.

“Heroin. Same as the Knights.”

“What kind of money are we talking?” Gordon asked, finally taking his gaze off Rufus. 

“Depends on how much we’re willing to move. He wants the shit out of Kansas and he needs someone to run it so he’ll pay premium. We’d be making as much as we do with a gun-run, if not more.” Dean said this matter-of-factly and Sam tried to act as though it were a surprise as the rest of the group seemed to perk up slightly. Even Rufus’ face smoothed a fraction. 

“How are we gonna know we’re not getting screwed, even if we do take this meeting?” Ash wondered out loud finally. He was looking at Bobby still despite the fact that Dean had been the one explaining. Dean looked at his brother surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye before exchanging looks with Bobby. “I mean, we’ve always known the guns, man. We could all tell the differences in assault weapons in our sleep but none of us know a damn thing about drugs.”  
Rufus and Gordon and Garth and Adam all made vague motions and sounds that said they hadn’t thought of it but they didn’t think he was wrong. Only Cas seemed to be unaffected. 

“Well,” Bobby started after a moment. “We’ll have to figure‒”

“That’s not true,” Cas interjected. Someone’s neck cracked as they turned to look at Cas so quickly. The fingers on Cas’s right hand absently traced one of the black lines on his opposite forearm where his arms were crossed on the table. They stilled and he raised his eyes, lingering just briefly on every member’s face when he repeated “It’s not true that none of us know anything about drugs.”

The realization dawned on Sam and Bobby but Dean looked at Cas still inquisitive and Gordon regarded him almost suspiciously. Cas slipped a hand into his vest and pulled something from the inside pocket. He rubbed at the sides of the little silver coin between his thumb and forefinger and spun it on the table, not taking his concentration off of it as it slowed and he snatched it back before it could fall. 

“It’s been 3 years, 8 months, 12 days since the last time I touched anything other than booze.” He wasn’t looking at the coin now, but at the rest of the club. His blue eyes seemed dampened despite the forced relaxation present on his face. His voice became even more formal as he continued on. “I did coke, and oxycodone, and ecstasy, and heroin hoping that I’d die before I reached the age of 30 after I lost my twin brother, Jimmy. For over two years, I didn’t spend a day sober and I didn’t waste my time with low-grade product. I was from a rich family, with a trust fund in my name and I didn’t think anything else was worth spending that money on. I can’t even remember how much money I lost in those years and I’d rather not say what I did to get more at the end.”  
Cas paused when he heard someone let out a low whistled of discomfort and surprise. He suspected it came from Dean, but he could only see him out the periphery of his eye. When he went on, he could feel a smirk tugging at his lips He wanted to laugh almost.

“You wondered why I don’t really drink and that’s the secret. I’m a token carrying NA member. I’ve even been a sponsor for the last few months.”

“That’s where you keep runnin’ off to?” Dean asked. Cas nodded.

“She’s not‒”

“Oh it’s a she?” Dean couldn’t help himself, smirk and eyebrow raised. Sam flung out a hand and hit him in the arm. Cas’s cheeks grew a tinted pink and Dean was no longer the only one smirking.

“Yes. She’s been having a hard time. That’s all I can say.” His tone was firm. Ash let out a breath and ran his hand through his hair again. Gordon’s face had softened from suspicion to a sort of understanding‒ he’d lost his sister and nearly drank himself to death when he and Dean were both 22; the only thing that had kept him from doing so was the club. 

Sam was chewing on his lip. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was asking his friend to do something he had no right to do with this plan. But Cas, even though he was through explaining his secrets, wasn't done talking.

"I'll support whatever this club wants to do with this. I didn't tell you to keep you from agreeing to the meeting if you think we should take it."

"You wouldn't sit it out though?" Bobby asked hesitantly. His head was tilted slightly and his eyes were searching.

"If we go to this meeting it'd make sense to have someone who would know something about heroin there. After this long I can control myself, I think. I don't think I'd go on a bender," he couldn't help but curl his mouth up a bit. He did give a small head bob of gratitude at the bearded man though. "I'd rather not see the club get screwed over."

The air in the room felt considerably less chilly than it had when they were discussing the deal before. Dean examined the faces of his fellow bikers and saw the frost had melted from their expressions. He saw that Adam was looking around with a warmth in his eyes and Dean felt that melted frost reform a little around his stomach. A 20 year old shouldn't feel warm and fuzzy about the admittance of a hard drug problem; he should feel warm and fuzzy about his mom sending him a care package of chocolate chip cookies and condoms to his dorm. It was another bad idea done out of desperation and Dean allowed himself only a moment of feeling badly about it.

"Is there anything else we need to discuss before we vote on this?" Bobby asked. He shot a look down the table to the two prospects. "You two obviously get a say in this as well. It ain't normal but, well, I get to make the rules for now, so long as no one has a problem." He didn't look like he wanted anyone to have a problem as he turned his eyes on the club members. Everyone around the table shook their heads to indicate that they didn't care if Adam and Garth voted in this case. Bobby waited another moment to see if someone was going to speak up, saying they needed to talk about some other aspect of this idea, but no one did.

"Alright then. What say you, Sons?"

"Nay," was Rufus with a shake of his head.

“Nay,” Ash said, drawing the word out and scrunching his brow. 

“Nay.” Cas twisted his head as though conceding the point. Dean’s eyes went upward in worry. Three no’s to start off the vote seemed like bad omen, but he looked down soon enough when Garth spoke, shockingly serious.

“Yea.”

Adam went next and he had to release his bottom lip from his teeth to speak. “Yea.” Sam couldn’t stop the grimace; he felt his brother twitch in the chair next to him too.

“Yea.” Gordon said without question.

Sam nodded as he said his “Yea” and Dean shrugged with a gesture of ‘of course’ as he gave his. Bobby gave a head movement that was similar to what Cas’s had been as he too said “Yea.” 

He cracked the gavel against the table. “6-3 with a vote of Yea. We’ll take the meeting.”

“Who will?” It was Rufus who asked, challenge underlying his tone.

“Me and Sam and Cas. It’d be too much of a risk to have me and Bobby there, and I think Morgenstern will want to deal with John Winchester’s sons. It’s been indicated that he knows why we haven’t worked together before.” As Dean explained, Sam found a reason to look anywhere but at anyone’s eyes, examining the grime under his nails from the garage at one moment and picking at a scratch in the veneer of the table the next. “That alright with you two?”

“Yes,” Cas said as Sam made a noise of assent. 

“I’ll let you know when we figure this meeting out exactly We’ll bring it back to the club when we find everything out,” Dean reassured the rest of the group. With one last question from Bobby of if there was any other new business, the meeting that brought Wayward Sons Motorcycle Club closer to moving heroin across stateliness closed. 

It was another week before Ruby told Sam where and when the meeting should take place and they had two days to mentally prepare themselves for it. Sam watched his brother pace across the office of the garage, seemingly more willing to spend time there under the hood of something than he was at home. He’d catch Dean looking at the photos on the wall in the office as though in pain but neither said anything to the other. 

When the day came and the three of them locked up the garage, closing on a Tuesday even though it may have been the first time a Tuesday was out of the ordinary in years, Dean looked at Cas and asked one more time if he really wanted to do this. Cas responded by throwing a leg over his Sportster and firing her up, tossing a look of disdain at his friend. Sam laughed a little under his breath and mounted his bike as well. Dean pulled out in front of the two of them and they tailed him, following the streak of black that he made.

Lucifer Morgenstern had no home base for his enterprises, instead setting up small shops in various minor towns throughout the Midwest and investing in business in both small, broke counties and major cities. It didn’t surprise the Winchesters or Cas that they were meeting in a town barely populated by anything other than cattle and flies. 

There was a white Cadillac and a black SUV parked outside the barn that apparently doubled as a warehouse when they got there. The three of them slid off their bikes and they each felt for the weapons they had on them. Dean had fumed at the idea of showing up not carrying and Cas had backed him up. Sam had gritted his teeth and thrown up his hands and hoped his brother knew what he was doing. 

Dean reached for the handle on the barn door and Sam made a noise in the back of his throat that made his brother turn around. He mocked knocking with an incredulous look and Dean rolled his eyes. Sam stomped his foot slightly and Dean turned back with his face scrunched up in disbelief. He shook Sam’s warning look off and, finding it unlocked, pulled the door open

“I wondered if you were gonna stand out there all day,” Ruby greeted. She was leaning against a pile of blocked bales of hay with her hands behind her. 

“What?” Dean wondered. Ruby lifted one hand and pointed behind them to the two TVs in the corner. One displayed the outside of the barn; the other, the road they’d been on to get there. When they turned to look, Cas caught Sam’s eye and flicked his gaze from Ruby and back. Sam shrugged imperceptibly in apology and promise to explain later. When they turned back around, they saw movement in one of the stalls that had clearly been used to hold animals of some sort. 

A blond man who would have been tall in any other group, in a light blue button up with rolled sleeves and scruff appeared, followed by a wavy haired brunette in boots and a leather jacket that looked nearly identical to one Ruby had worn before. Sam felt Cas stiffen next to him and nearly turned to see if he was alright when the man spoke. His face turned arrogant and somewhat cruel as he did. 

“The infamous Winchesters,” his eyes flicked to Cas, “And you are?”

“This is Cas. I’m Dean and that’s Sam,” Dean said, muscles standing out from the tension he was carrying. Sam couldn’t help but let some of it leak to him as well, his shoulders bunching under his leather. 

“Oh, relax, you three. We’re here to talk business. But before we do, I suppose introductions on our end are needed too. You’ve already met Ruby; this is Meg. My daughters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I in no way mean to trivialize what recovering addicts go through by portraying any characters in the way that I do. My own experience with addicts and research are not exhaustive by any means and I hope that I portray addicts as a group of people who are still people with their own personalities and traits and ways of dealing


	7. Surrender

Sam blanched. Dean held himself back from whirling to look at him, not hiding the glare he gave his brother at all.

"I take it you didn't know Ruby was my daughter? She and Meg might be adopted, but they’re mine the same as my biological girl is." Lucifer said, eyebrows rising with the question and falling with the explanation. He turned to the woman in question with a mock hurt expression and a hand over his heart. "I'd think you were ashamed of me if I didn't know any better."

Ruby looked apologetic and moved to speak but a head shake stopped her. Cas hadn’t relaxed his posture at all and he was still staring at the other woman in the group. Dean flicked his eyes between the two of them.

"No wonder you're having such a hard time," Cas said with a steady voice aimed at her. She smirked as one hand came to rest on her cocked hip.

“You can’t really be mad, can you, Clarence?” she returned, emphasizing the last word. Dean’s face scrunched in question and Sam’s might have as well if he could take his gaze off of Ruby or slow the thoughts whirring in his mind. Cas’s gaze burned furious blue when he went to reply.

“I am‒” 

“This is so not what we’re here for,” Ruby muttered, cutting him off and taking the wind out of his sails.

“She’s not wrong,” Sam said swallowing his questions. They flashed neon in the back of his mind, but the club came to the forefront. “We’re here to talk business.”

“I’d been told you were the smart one,” Lucifer smiled at Sam. Dean curled his lip into a disbelieving sneer briefly, but it fell in a flash. Sam may be the smart one, with the degree and the law books and the knowledge of canon literature, but Dean knew this as though it were in his blood. He’d taken to being a criminal as though it’d been knowledge transferred through the ink of his first tattoo and it didn’t matter what sort of transaction it was.

“You’ve got product you need moving,” Dean stated. The blond man gave an indulgent nod. “There’s a chance we might be able to help you out. But us being here tells you that. And I’d say the fact that you’re here yourself means that either you don’t trust us, or you don’t trust your people and the fact that there’s a question there doesn’t sit right with me.”

Lucifer smiled with a glint in his eye. “I trust my people just fine. I raised them both since they were pre-teens after all. Rest assured that it’s you I don’t trust, Dean.”

“Then I have to wonder why you’d even extend the offer.” It was a lie. Dean knew he’d extended the offer in a sort of desperation, which was the same reason they’d taken it, but he wanted to see how the man would react. He dropped the smile and shook his head.

“You know why I extended the offer. I’m not your usual man, to be cowed by your club. I’m an expert at this in ways you can’t even dream of, so how about we drop the show and I tell you that I want the 3 kilos I have right now moved in the next three months to buyers I have lined up in Missouri and Oklahoma. I’ll give you 100 grand to move it.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance; 100 grand was a nice bit of money at any time, but especially now.

“Is the product that subpar?” Cas asked. Ruby looked murderous, Meg looked inexplicably offended and Lucifer just looked taken aback. “You want us to take a third of the price if it’s a low-end product. I never could have gotten 3 kis for 100 grand.”

“I’m asking you to move it not buy it,” Lucifer responded after recovering from his apparent shock. 

“You’ll be making almost five times that much even if it isn’t good.”

“Oh, it’s good product. Nearly 80 percent pure, which is better than most of the shit the people around here are used to,” Meg added. 

Cas’s brows shot up and he turned his head to face the woman’s father from where he’d given her his attention. 

“In that case, it wouldn’t be too hard for you to give us 300 grand for running all of it.”

“For 300 grand you run that and the other 500 grams I usually have the Knights of Hell moving around Kansas.” His voice brooked no argument.

“We won’t move it into Freedom and we won’t move it into Lawrence,” Dean said with a tone just as adamant. 

“Yeah, just ruin other people’s hometowns, because that’s the moral high ground,” Ruby drawled. Her sister laughed quietly. 

“Maybe we weave a tangled moral web, or maybe we just know it’s a lot easier to trace back to us in those places. We might not be a drug club, but this ain’t our first rodeo, sweetheart,” Dean practically spat with contempt. Ruby just rolled her eyes. 

“That money’s fair enough,” Cas admitted after a moment.

“Good, I’ll have my girls set up the details for you specifically then. I’m sure you’ll have it worked out in the next week. It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you gentlemen, I’m sure.”

“Oh, hold on. We have to take that back to the club. This is just a meeting,” Dean said.

“That was the deal. We take this meeting before any decision could be made,” Sam pointed out. His eyes moved from Lucifer to Ruby to confirm. Ruby looked back blankly.

“I was unaware,” but the tone of his voice gave that away for a lie. Lucifer continued. “You’ve been here, you’ve seen my operation, you’ve seen me and two of my daughters; there’s really no room for you to back out. You take this deal or you die.”

Dean’s hand was at his back, on the verge of sliding his gun out before anything else could happen. Sam reacted automatically, his hand going behind him as well, feeling the handle of his own gun to have his brother’s back. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Cas twitching to do the same.

“I meant metaphorically. Or literally but in the sense of your club, not you. It’d compromise my operation too much to bring people in only to have them say no. So say yes or let your club flounder under its own debt and know that I will end you if you even say the words ‘morning’ or ‘star’ in a sentence together.” Dean looked puzzled, shaking his head slightly in confusion. 

“It’s his last name, dumbass,” was Ruby’s comment. Dean’s lips flattened and his eyes hardened at her. Her father smiled slightly and Sam itched to punch him in the face before he could be shocked by the impulse. 

“Do we have an understanding?” Lucifer inquired once a beat had passed. The three men in leather shared glances, both Cas and Sam given nearly invisible nods to their sergeant at arms.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Keep me abreast of the details, girls.” With that, the blond man strode out of the barn, not deigning to look at any of the other men.

It was silent for a moment until they all heard the engine of the Cadillac starting off and pulling away. 

Cas was striding across the barn towards Meg and had her backing away until she hit one of the pillars blocking off the stalls. She grabbed at his leather and made to pull him close, but Cas jerked back.

“You should have told me,” he rumbled.

“Aw, Clarence, you worried about me?”

“It’s bad enough how we broke the sponsor relationship already, but this‒”

“You’re not doing anything any better by being a mule so don’t start.” Cas seemed to back off at that. The two of them ignored the three other people in the room completely. “At least I told you my real name, Cas.”

“Speaking of, I thought you said her last name was Proctor,’ Dean accused Sam. Sam shook his head but before he could ask Ruby about it, she answered.

“It is. I was adopted when I was 11 years old and I kept my last name. Neither one of us is a Morgenstern.” 

“That makes it so much better,” Dean said, the sarcasm palpable. Ruby flipped him off.

“You should have told me,” Sam said quietly, echoing Cas’ words from a moment ago.

“Yeah because it’s a lot harder to believe this ain’t a setup now,” Dean acknowledged. He kicked at a pile of hay next to him. “Fuck.”

“It’s not; you’ve gotta believe me, it’s not. I’m trying to help you,” Ruby pleaded to Sam. She walked forward until she could take his hands in hers. They were dwarfed by Sam’s and without a jacket on to make her look tougher, she looked tiny next to him.

“Well we don’t really have a fucking choice to believe you. Congratulations, Sam, you thinking with your dick has turned us into drug mules.”

“That’s not fair, Dean‒” Sam started with hidden hurt making his voice hard. A muscle in Ruby’s arm jumped like she wanted to slap him.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Dean said shaking his head. “Never mind, let’s get this figured out.” Dean ran a hand through his hair before looking up and aiming his gaze towards Ruby. Cas had let Meg move away from the wall even though he stayed right where he had been standing. She’d walked over to stand next to her sister. They leveled Dean with identical stares.

“So?” Ruby prompted before Dean could say anything.

Sam touched her wrist lightly and shook his head when she turned to look at him. 

“How do you want to do this, Winchester?” Meg asked, less annoyed than her sister had sounded. She turned mocking as she went on. “I can let you pretend you’re in charge if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Get us the contact information for the buyers he’s got set up. He wants it done in three months, we can do that, but we need information instead of just blind orders.”

“Fine. We’ll be checking in on you from time to time.”

“No, you won’t,” Dean replied without hesitation.

“We don’t really need your permission,” Meg shrugged. “Besides, my sisters bangin’ your brother and I’m sick of having to be the back-door girl every time you show up with club business. Like it or not, we were gonna be around whether or not this deal went through. Now, maybe you won’t treat me like you’re ashamed of me.” The last part was addressed to Cas. He didn’t change expressions when he responded.

“I am.” The flatness of his voice astounded both Sam and Dean and Meg quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, we’ll have to have words about that later, won’t we?”

“It’s like a fuckin’ soap opera in here, I swear,” Dean grumbled.

“Just get your shit together and call who you need to call so you can make a run by the end of the week. Our father’s expecting results, and quick. And you need money, so quit acting like you’re above this,” Ruby spat 

“I keep my dick out of club business, so yeah I’m acting like I’m above this,” he retorted, taking a step towards her.

“Dean,” Cas warned. Dean settled back onto his heels and huffed out a breath.

“Is there anything else you need to tell us right now? Is your third sister sleeping with someone in this club too maybe?” 

“Considering she’s about 16, I hope not,” Ruby said. Meg laughed. Dean looked vaguely horrified. 

“You know you have to move that extra 500 on your own, right? There’s nobody lined up. So you might want to get on that,” Meg responded in seriousness. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Sam said. 

“That it?” After Meg and Ruby exchanged looks and nodded, Dean spoke again. “I’m glad we got dragged all the way out here in a damn barn to be ordered around like lackeys and sent on our way. Let’s fucking go.” 

Ruby touched Sam’s shoulder and tilted her face up to be kissed. Sam leaned down and pressed his mouth distractedly to her cheek. His brother fumed and jangled the keys in his pocket. “Tell your brother not to be so damn dramatic,” Ruby told him with a scoff. Dean was too busy being annoyed at his brother that he was missing the goodbye between his best friend and the other of Lucian Morgenstern’s daughters. 

Cas moved to breeze past Meg but she caught his belt loop and pulled him to face her. She just tilted her chin up in defiance of the fire in his eyes. “Be as mad as you want, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s your job to keep me from falling off the wagon‒”

“Are you really going to continue that game?” Cas demanded. Ice covered his voice and counteracted his glare.

“I’ve been clean for three months, it’s not a game. And even if it was, you can pretend all you want, but you want me, even if I make you sick now. Be ashamed if you want, you’ll still pick up when I call.” The hand that wasn’t in his belt loop curled in the front of his leather and she yanked him down to kiss him. Cas held back for only a moment before he was kissing her back with just as much force. She pulled back and smiled with her eyes half-lidded. Cas didn’t say anything as he nearly jerked out of her grasp and headed toward the door. 

When they were outside again, Dean kicked at the tire of the SUV.

“Very mature, Dean,” Sam told him. 

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“This plan,” Cas started. He was getting on his bike, but made no move to pull up the stand. “It was Ruby’s ideas that she gave to you, Sam?”

Sam grimaced, but met Cas’s eyes. It only seemed the fair thing to do as he nodded. Cas nodded back and then flipped his kickstand up. Although the sun was in the sky and the road was just as smooth as it had been on the way to the meeting place and their bikes were as loud as ever, cold and silence permeated their return ride.

***

Sam was shocked there wasn’t a screaming match going on at the table.

“You serious?” Rufus was asking. “You are stone serious? This meeting that you all seemed to think would be just fine turned into‒”

“It turned into us bending over for the man, is what it turned into,” Ash added. 

“The money’s great. And we need it,” Gordon argued.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cas interjected. The rest of the table didn’t seem to hear him, caught up in their discussion. He repeated himself, but louder and they all seemed to stop. 

“What’s done is done,” Sam continued. “He may have made it sound like we’d collapse on our own, but I’m pretty sure he’ll actually kill us if we try to refuse.” Dean and Cas both nodded when the rest of the table looked to them for confirmation. 

“What we need to worry about is how we’re moving that extra 500 grams we’re taking from the Knights,” Dean said.

“We need to worry about them finding out we’re moving that weight,” Bobby pointed out. Five heads nodded. “I might know someone to take it. I’ll make a few calls.”

“We’ll get through this,” Dean reassured. “It ain’t any different than the first time we ran guns.” Sam gave him a wavering smile and Bobby’s small sigh told Dean exactly how much the rest of the group believed him. 

But it only took two days before they were back at the table and Bobby smiled genuinely. 

"I got us a run, boys," the hatted man said. Ash let out a whoop and Sam raised an eyebrow; he shrugged in response.

"Hey, we can't get out of it so I want to get it done. When, Bobby?"

"And where?" Dean asked, not quite as enthusiastically. He may have helped get the club into this, and he trusted Bobby's judgment more than he trusted his father's at times it seemed like, but he felt an uneasiness in his gut that pointed towards the uncertainty of a run that came together so quickly.

"A contact in Texas that owed me a favor."

"We're making a run all the way into Texas?" Rufus asked.

"Into Perryton. It's a 7 hour ride, we can break it up if it's too much for your delicate behind," Bobby snarked at his friend. Rufus frowned at him, brows going heavy.

"Hey, 100 grand for seven hours is a better paycheck than you'll get anywhere else, old-timer," Gordon pointed out laughing.

"It's a little less than that," Cas started. Gordon turned to him with a look of annoyed disbelief. "However, it's still true." Cas's ammendment earned a nod and a turning up of the corners of Gordon's mouth. Cas nodded back at him. "Do you think it's wise that we all make this run?"

Bobby was shaking his head slightly with one eye scrunched due to the pursing of his lips. "It's hard to say."

"We make this run this weekend there's a bike rally in Amarillo we can use as a cover," Adam piped up before Bobby could go on to explain his reasoning. Sam turned to face his younger brother and a grin broke out across his face. "I knew we'd be crossing south eventually, didn't know when so I looked some stuff up." 

The rest of the sons received the explanation with smiles as well. Adam shrugged and even though he could feel his cheeks getting warm, the color didn't show. He didn't really want to be the new kid proving himself, but he couldn't help but think that's what this was. He felt the pride of that rush into his chest. 

“What else you find out in this research?” Dean asked with a joke in his voice. Adam recognized it for what it was and fired back.

“Porn expo in Dallas and a Classic car show in Tulsa this weekend too. You want for the next month?”

The table roared with laughter at the shocked look on Dean’s face before Bobby gave a half-hearted bang of the gavel.

“Alright, alright. Once Dean finished picking his jaw up off the table at the fact that he’s once again getting’ outsmarted by his younger brother, we need to discuss this plan.”

Dean flipped Adam the bird in mock secret and Adam snorted. 

“We’re wanted there before sunset, but that gives us a lot of room in Texas at this time of the year. We ain’t making it there and heading straight back. I’m not having anyone drop on their bike‒”

“You mean, you don’t wanna drop from your bike, old man,” Gordon ribbed at Bobby. Bobby didn’t even bother to look at him.

“Hey, if we’re there, we may as well go on to Amarillo. Give us some new contacts at this rally, maybe. Make the kid’s research count for something,” Dean shrugged.

“Fine. We’ll do this Friday. Be here and ready to go about 10, but let’s try not to be too shitty from the night before this run alright? It was a shit-show on that run to Topeka last year with the AR-15s.” 

Ash’s eye glinted wickedly and as Bobby dismissed the group, he pointed a finger at him. He called after the group as they filtered out, “Ash, I’m serious; we can’t get sloppy!”

That warning went unheeded, even by the acting President himself. Thursday night, the bar was packed. Someone, Ash, Dean damn well knew, had made it his mission to get as much of the public into the Roadhouse as possible, under some ridiculous pretense. He seemed to be getting steadily drunker and hitting on the women with the classiest lines he could think of. When Dean had passed him last, he was promising to take a woman to the Olive Garden in Lawrence. Dean snorted into his beer.

“You sure throw enough parties,” Ruby said as Dean slid into a booth across from where Sam had his arm thrown over her shoulder. There was some red liquid sloshing around the glass in front of her as she used a stir to clink the ice cubes around. 

“You doin’ alright, little brother?” Dean wondered. A faint pink had settled high on Sam’s cheeks that broadcasted that he was on his way to drunk. He’d more than likely be a son of a bitch in the morning, grumbling for water and pancakes and Dean knew he’d laugh in his face. Hopefully Adam would be able to get him home since the younger man had switched who he was crashing with. 

“This is gonna work out, Dean,” Sam declared. He punctuated the statement with a sip of his whiskey. Dean raised his glass to clink with his brother’s. 

“I hope you’re right, Sammy.”

“He is. This is your contact, isn’t it? You’ll be fine, you big pussy,” Ruby said rolling her eyes so hard Dean thought she might strain something. 

“Let him mingle instead of hoggin’ ‘im all night, would you?” Dean jerked his chin to indicate his brother. His nerves were manifesting themselves in the elision of words. Sam would have noticed had he not suddenly turned his head and nuzzled his nose behind Ruby’s ear. She let out a giggle and Dean rammed his leg into the table he got up so fast.

He headed toward the pool table where he saw Cas trying to explain some finer point of geometry in shooting pool. He noticed the leather-clad legs that were carrying the other dark haired daughter of their devilish boss toward the two of them and decided against it. He caught Adam’s eye as he looked away from where Meg wrapped her arms around Cas and the darker haired man turned and let her kiss him slow and sultry. Dean and Adam both blinked at each other, decidedly not watching while Meg decided the middle of the bar was an appropriate place to try to slip a hand down the back of Cas’s jeans, before Dean smirked at Adam’s horrified expression and walked on. 

He’d wandered over to where Gordon and Rufus were and was laughing with them and discussing the modifications Sam and Adam had put on the kid’s bike when he scanned the room, not seeing the head of long blonde hair he expected to. Only Pamela stood behind the bar, currently pouring shots of tequila directly into Ash’s and Garth’s mouths. Jo should have been putting a stop to it. Dean excused himself made his way back into the kitchen. Jo stood at the fridge her mother kept stocked just for employees.

“Tap beer ain’t good enough for you?” he asked. She jumped and slammed the door. She turned and breathed heavily.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she told him. She had an El Sol in one hand. “We’re supposed to save these for special occasions since they’re gonna stop making ‘em soon, but beer doesn’t keep forever.” 

Dean nodded. The combat boots on Jo’s feet emphasized how tight her jeans hugged her legs and she looked small and lithe. The ripped Misfits shirt she had on strained across her chest and rode up, showing off the dagger tattooed on her hip. There were very few traces of the girl who used to hang on her daddy’s legs while he shot pool and Dean couldn’t help but notice.

“When’d you grow up, Harvelle?”

Jo’s eyebrows shot up. “Considering I’m 25, I’d say a while ago, Dean Winchester. Maybe the first time I put my feet on the roof of Mark Mason’s car?”

“Oh, God, that twerp?”

“That ‘twerp’ was the starting quarterback when I was a junior, alright? And I saw the girls you went with in high school. Or, Sam did, and complained about them to me.” Dean grinned at her accusatory look. She smiled back. After a beat, Jo broke the moment by holding the beer out to Dean. He cracked it open with his ring and handed it back to her after taking the first pull and coming to stand next to her, also leaning against the counter she was at. She wrinkled her face at him and wiped off the neck with her t-shirt, exposing more of her stomach. 

“So, this run,” Dean started. He went on at her raised eyebrow. “Could be pretty dangerous. Might be the last time you see some of us.”

No fear flashed onto Jo’s face; she simply tilted her head and looked at him with her eyes angled upwards. “Are you giving me a last night on earth speech?”

“What? No. No, I mean, would it work?” Jo laughed derisively.

“Honey, it isn’t my last night on earth. And if it was, I’d spend it with a little something called self-respect.” She took a swig of the beer. There was no malice in her as she pushed him toward the door. “Go back to your party and perv on some girl who’ll believe your shit, Dean.”  
Dean brought up a hand in the motion of a shrug as he moved. “Alright, Jo, whatever you say.”

When he rejoined the party he found Bobby shooting darts with a regular of Ellen’s and his brother had finally gotten up and was speaking to their other brother. Cas was laughing at something Gordon was saying before some girl caught Gordon’s eye. Dean found his friend and joined him in conversation. 

The music was loud and the drinks seemed to be never ending and forgetting the reason for the party seemed to be the first thing on the Wayward Sons’s minds. Dean had no clue how long it was before he took a step back and stopped. People were dancing in the corner by John’s bike and he was pretty certain Ash was making out with someone in the corner booth.

He loved the club and he was having a good time but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about tomorrow. Even he got exhausted pretending so Dean stepped outside and took a deep breath, immediately getting a whiff of cigarette smoke. He turned his head to see Meg leaning against the side of the building twenty feet away.

“What?” she asked before Dean even said anything. “I had to keep one of my vices.”

“You went with smoking?” He moved toward her so he wasn’t shouting across the lot to her. When he was only a few feet from her she shrugged.

“I tried drinking still but it made me want to shoot up and kick puppies,” Dean narrowed his eyes and turned his head slightly, looking at her askance; he wasn’t going to ask. They stood without talking for a moment, the music from inside still audible and Meg’s exhalation of smoke loud. “Did you need something, pretty boy?”

“You wanna bum me one since I’m out here though?”

She held the half empty pack out to him. “The job is a solid one, Winchester; you don’t need to act like you’re on the way to the gallows. It’s just a drug run. My father will be pissed if you die; he’s got a vested interest in your little club now.”

“You don’t have to be such a bitch about it,” Dean said around the cigarette he’d placed in his mouth. Before he could dig in his pocket for the lighter he still carried out of habit, Meg had hers lit and at the tip of the Marlboro.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Thanks. And yeah, you are, but why? If you don’t‒”

“I told you, my father has a vested interest in this venture. I don’t need another reason. You ought to understand that, Dean.” He found he didn’t have anything to say to that so he just took another drag as Meg finished hers and flicked the butt away from her. “As nice as it’s been justifying my actions to you, I’m going to see if my sister is still upright. Probably no thanks to your brother. And I happen to like this song.”

As she left, Dean almost felt like he should call out with an apology but when he heard a muttered ‘douchebag’ he decided that feeling was wrong. He moved to the side of the building to sit on the steps Ellen used to bring deliveries into the bar, hoping he’d have more privacy. He wasn’t alone half a minute, his thoughts about this job and the quality of the idea of it still rumbling around in his head, before he heard the door behind him open.

“Son of a‒”

“Sorry,” he heard Jo say.

“You’re fine, Jo.”

“I just wanted to get some air. I can leave if you wanted to be by yourself. Are you smoking?” she questioned. Dean thought about sending her back inside just on principle because of earlier but he just moved over to give her room to sit down next to him. As she did, she answered her own question. “I haven’t seen you smoke in years.”

“Seemed like the right time,” Dean responded, blowing a ring just to see if he still could. He could practically feel Jo roll her eyes next to him. They sat in companionable silence for a beat and then she held out her hand, two fingers up in tight peace sign. Dean glanced at her and she shook the hand a little with a nod. He ashed the half smoked cigarette before placing it in her hand. He watched as she took a puff, exhaled and did it again, breathing deeply after expelling the smoke.

“You expect me to cough or something, Winchester?” she smiled as she handed it back to him. At his twist of the lips she continued, “I went to high school too, you know.”

“Ooh, rebel,” Dean laughed.

“Shut up,” she laughed back. They sat and passed the cigarette long enough for the song to change from the Bad Company one Meg had said she liked to a Rolling Stones tune. The song was half over by the time Dean stretched his leg out and ground out the butt into the dirt at the bottom of the steps. He wasn’t going to feel better about the job thinking about it, he realized. He’d be better off back inside. 

“C’mon, Harvelle; you know your mom and Bobby are cuttin’ a rug in there to this. You wanna show ‘em up?” He made a move to get up but Jo stopped him and he sat back down from the two inches he’d raised himself and turned to her with a raised eyebrow.

She didn’t say anything, just leaned in and kissed him gently. He pulled back slightly and looked at her with a question in his eyes which she did respond to verbally: “Stay.”

“What happened to spending the night with self-respect?”

“Well, I’m not the one celebrating her potential last night on earth‒ how could I send a man off to his death having spent the night alone?” she shrugged. It was meant to be a joke but Dean swallowed around the idea thickly. The small smile that had been playing on her lips fell. She took a breath and he could see the effort it was taking her to keep looking Dean in the eye. “You’re gonna be fine, Dean. I just…I want you. I’ve tried not to but you’re like a bad habit I’ve had since pigtails and if you make fun of me for that, I’ll kick your ass, Winchester. I mean it.” She said the last part in one breath. 

It was Dean’s turn to respond without a word and his palm wound up high on her cheek, fingers threading into her hair and his lips were soft. It was brief but he only moved a fraction to whisper. “Okay.” With that he was back on her, much more insistent this time, other arm pulling her bodily toward him. She was half on his lap, pushing him into the railing when her tongue brushed his lip and he took it as permission to explore her mouth. His tongue pushed into her, licking at hers and her teeth and she’d caught his bottom lip between them teasing at it, bursting capillaries so his already feminine mouth was even redder when he pulled back again. “Your mother’s going to kill me,” he said from his position of having Jo straddled on his lap under the Kansas sky, marred only by the neon lights of her family bar and the sole streetlight on the stretch of road.

“Just take me home, Dean,” Jo said, smiling. “She won’t even notice I’m gone. She’s too worried for you all tomorrow to worry about me.”

Yet, when Jo walked back into the bar to grab her leather jacket, despite how inconspicuous she was trying to be, Ellen’s eyes were glued to her from the corner booth she occupied with Bobby and Rufus. She also saw when Dean came in from the same side entrance minutes later. Jo was in conversation with Ash and Gordon near the dart board even though Ash seemed drunk enough to fall over. Gordon was laughing about something, warm and deep, and he seemed as relaxed as he normally was before a run. You can say what you want about the Winchesters, Ellen thought hearing him from across the room, but Gordon’s got more conviction than any of them. With his carrying laughter, Gordon distracted Ellen from seeing Dean reach Sam where he was observing the others, an arm curled over Ruby’s shoulder and a hand curled around what had to be his seventh beer. Ellen looked up just in time to see Sam’s face form a question and Dean’s eyebrows bounce in response. Sam shook his head with a drunken smirk and set his beer down and slid his hand across his brother’s in the gesture of goodbye she’d seen them make a thousand times. She heard his admonishment for his older brother to ride safe and Dean’s warning that if he showed up in the morning and Sam was passed out on the pool table like last time, he was drawing on him. 

“What are you lookin’ at, woman?” Bobby nudged her back into conversation.

“Nothin’ that I haven’t seen before, old man,” she shot back at him with a smile. Rufus laughed at the offended look on Bobby’s face. 

“Who you callin’ old? And what are you laughin’ at, gramps?”

When the door closed behind her as she left, she heard her mother’s laugh and knew no one was getting killed tonight. Dean was already outside, not having made quite a show, leaning against his bike waiting. Jo stood and looked at him for a moment. She saw the cut and the bulge of the gun she knew he’d been keeping in there since this deal came to the table and the boots and the hermit on his left forearm and the letters on his knuckles and knew there was a lot more ink she couldn’t see now, but part of her saw the 16 year old she’d first noticed when she was 10 and just realizing boys weren’t always going to seem like her brothers. Same pouty lips, same green eyes, same vague smell of engine grease.

“Wait til I take all this off, sweetheart,” Dean said and she recognized she’d been blatant in her examination. 

“I could always just get on my own bike and just ride away, sweetheart,” she responded with a modicum of venom. 

Dean swung his leg over his Dyna with a laugh. “Come on, Jo. I’ll even put on clean sheets for you when we get there.” She rolled her eyes but joined him on the bike. Even without the sissy bar, and even though it was practically explicitly stated that they were driving away to sleep together, she couldn’t forgo her pride and wrap her arms around him. She clung to the leather vest instead, but they had barely left the lot when she gave in, realizing Dean Winchester wouldn’t drive slow for anyone. If he had his radio on, she couldn’t hear it over the rumble of the v-twin and the thumping bass of his heart where her ear was to his back. 

“You never put a bar on the back on purpose didn’t you? So every girl who rode with you would have to press her tits against you,” she accused when they had stopped and dismounted and Dean was unlocking his apartment door. 

“Well, duh,” he grinned. Even in that short drive between the Roadhouse and his place, Jo’s hair had gotten windswept, and he brushed it from her face before pushing the door open and motioning her in. She slipped her boots off as soon as she hit the entryway and she barely paused before walking further in; she’d been there before and she wasn’t waiting for an invitation into the bedroom. Dean didn’t seem to mind and followed her. She leaned down and sniffed at the sheets after throwing the blanket off. “Hey.”

“You said they weren’t clean. They smell clean,” she said. She looked up and gave him a cheeky grin.

“I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know.”

“In more ways than one,” she breathed before she could stop herself, looking anywhere but at him. So she only heard, not saw, him cross the room to stand in front of her.

“I heard that,” he told her before tilting her chin up. He kissed her in earnest right away, lips and tongue massaging hers, hands pulling her into him, one snaking down to her ass while the other splayed across her back. Her hands pushed his leather off his shoulder and then sneaking under the black shirt he was wearing. He pulled back long enough to whip the shirt off himself and he moved to return to her but she held a hand up to his chest. She let her own leather jacket fall off and pulled her shirt off as well. When Dean put his hands back on her, they were hot against her skin but she shivered as they moved across her shoulders and back and hips while his mouth traveled from hers to her ears and her neck. Her hand covered the club symbol on his shoulder when she pushed him back to lay open mouthed kisses on both the bluebird inked over his heart and the rayed pentagram on his right pectoral before dragging her tongue over his nipples. He not so gently grabbed her face and brought her mouth back to his and kissed her hard enough that she didn’t want to move her mouth again. She let out a gasp of surprise when the hands he’d just removed from her face cupped her ass and picked her up, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist where she could feel his arousal against the seam of her jeans.

He proceeded to lay her down, hair fanning across the sheets, and he smiled down at her, before she realized at some point he’d unsnapped her bra; she wriggled to help him divest her of it and he mouthed at her newly exposed skin. His hands continued to wander and she continued to help him get her out of her clothes, her hands tracing the scrawled “So It Goes” between his shoulder blades as he removed her panties. Her fingers lost their rhythm as his and his mouth found one, tongue making patterns against her clit that had her letting out groans and fingers pushing in and out of her cunt slowly. He curled them up against her front wall and wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked. Jo’s hands moved from his shoulders to the back of Dean’s head and she couldn’t keep herself from trying to force him even closer to her. She could feel him smile against her, tongue darting out between the pucker of his lips, and she whined when he started to chuckle slightly. 

“Please, please, Dean,” she begged, not having any idea what she really was asking for but knowing that he was making her feel so good and she didn’t want it to stop. Her hips bucked up. Dean was still pumping his fingers in and out of her but his thumb had slid up to circle her clit at the same time as his tongue did. She was shaking with her orgasm in moments and Dean gave her little kitten licks as she rode it out. 

Jo let out a deep breath and sat up. Dean had detached his mouth from her, but Jo remedied that by kissing him, tasting herself on him and finding the wetness on his lips incredibly erotic. She reached down and undid the jeans he still had on. She lowered her hand and palmed the length Dean’s cock. He stood up and let his jeans fall to the floor completely. Jo leaned forward and traced the “1%” he had inked on his hip with her tongue before turning and licking a stripe from the base of his cock to the head and swirling her tongue around, concentrating on the bundle of nerves on the underside. She pulled off him with a quiet pop and went right back, taking him deep into her mouth. Her tongue swept back and forth across the vein on the underside as she moved from base to head and back again. 

Dean fumbled around in his bedside drawer and pulled out a condom. He was visibly putting effort into not fisting a hand into Jo’s hair as she continued to suck him. One of his hands went to her face and his thumb traced at her chin and pushed her jaw down lightly, just enough to pull back from her. The head of his cock rested briefly against her mouth and he didn’t let his hips push forward to drag it across her lips like he wanted to. Jo looked up at him slightly taken aback but the look dissipated as he rolled the condom on. 

He leaned down and kissed her and moved her away from the edge of the bed again. His knees hit the mattress and he crawled, maneuvering them further up the bed, turning them to not hit the wall. Jo’s hands were on his shoulders and her legs were curling up, ankles hooked against Dean’s lower back. He made sure to be kissing her when he pushed into her. He still felt the gasp as he did though. Their hips moved together, languid and smooth. Jo was content to let him keep that languid pace and run her hands over his arms and shoulders and up his neck as long as he kept kissing her and trusting his hips. He did, but moved from her mouth, to her neck, to her shoulders, to her ears and she tried to keep her own movement up as well. She had no idea how long it was before the steady feeling of pleasure got ramped up when Dean sped up and swiveled his hips in a way that hit her still sensitized clit in just the right way. One of Dean’s hands wrapped around her thigh and his fingers digging into it slightly as he stroked into her was what set her off again. Her second climax triggered Dean’s and he covered her body with his as he let the pleasure wash over him. 

He slipped out of her, and turned onto his back, moving Jo onto her side because she felt boneless enough to let him arrange her onto his chest. His hand stroked her hair as she fell into warmth and sleep, without a single word passed between them. 

She woke up hours later, his breath tickling the back of her neck and his arm slung across her waist. She could see every article of clothing although the moon had gone down and allowed herself a moment to be warm in Dean’s arms, even though she was uncovered above the waist. Shifting slightly, she tried to be as gentle as possible about trying to get out of bed. The bed creaked only slightly as she managed to slip Dean’s arm off her and sit up. She stood up and was bending to reach under the bed for where her foot had knocked her underwear when she felt a hand around her wrist. Looking up, Dean had raised his head off his pillow. There was a bruise on his collarbone that made her bite her lip in desire to put a matching one on the other side. 

“Y’ goin’ somewhere?” he murmured, his voice coming out full of gruff sleep. It was adorable coming from a man with tattoos in the double digits who carried a gun.

“I was planning on it, sorta, yeah,” she nodded, still fishing for her underwear one handed. She had no idea how it’d gotten so far away from her. Dean shook his head. “What?”

“Stay,” he echoed her word from earlier. She made a noise as though to protest and he continued. “Please.” He lay his head back down on the pillow, still looking at her. “ ‘sides, you aren’t takin’ my bike, no matter what tricks you did earlier and you’re not walking.”

Jo almost blushed; he sounded just as tired, but still adamant in his request. He tugged on the wrist he was still holding to bring her back to bed. She sighed in resignation‒ she’d have to have light to find her underwear at this point. As she settled herself back into the bed, Dean once again curled his arm around her, pulling her into him, his hand reaching up to pinch her nipple. 

“Reputation ‘member?” he slurred when she let out a near squeak. “Can’t go just spoonin’ girls.” He was asleep again before she thought of a reply and she closed her eyes and quit trying once he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am making my best guesses as far as the drug and drug dealing info goes- I tried to do some research and got a lot of conflicting information, so please just suspend disbelief- this is after all, just fanfic that I am writing in my free time while being a grad student.


	8. Runnin' With the Devil

The sun gleamed bright in the morning sky, white as light on mirrored glass as it bounced off the paint of the line of bikes in the parking lot of the Roadhouse. No one seemed to be pleased about this fact except Cas, who was unafraid to smirk at everyone else's discomfort. 

"All I want is pancakes," Sam grumbled. Dean let out a small laugh and Sam glared at him half-heartedly. Ruby stood next to him, her sunglasses taking up half of her face. She leaned and kissed his cheek and the smile fell from Dean's face, fake gagging. It set Sam off to actually gagging and Ruby backed away quickly. It was Meg laughing then. She had just hopped out of the black SUV she was driving. 

"Come on, Ruby," she said with a jerk of her head. "We've got work we can do to set up the run they'll be doing in a few weeks that's actually going to benefit Dad. This is them having bitten off way more than they can chew." Ruby nodded at her sister and raised her glasses to give Sam a look. He smiled weakly.

"I'll be careful."

"The rest of you be careful too; we'll be expecting you back with our money by Monday."

"It's not your money," Gordon said leveling his gaze at Meg when she had spoken. She twisted her neck to look at him. "It's your father's money."

"Who do you think paid for this sweet, sweet ride I got? Don't get antsy," she responded as she slid back into the seat. "You especially come back in one piece, Clarence."

Cas nodded with a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

"You know his real name, why keep on with the Clarence bit?" Dean wondered. She didn't answer, shot him a look, and slammed the driver's side door to the car. 

"Whatever," he muttered. 

Bobby turned to look at the group from his bike. "I know we're all dyin' for some breakfast, so let's get this show on the damn road, alright? We've got shit to do." Ash gave a mock salute as they all got on their bikes. 

“Ride safe, boys,” Ellen said from the doorway. Jo stood slightly behind and next to her and Dean caught her eye. He winked. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. Dean’s eyes slid sideways and saw Ellen’s expression, serious with her hand at the necklace she always wore, and his face grew more somber. 

The v-twins roared to life under them and Garth was driving the van, packed full of camping equipment to hide the drugs that hadn’t fit in the packs on the bikes. 

After a few hours where they did finally get Sam his pancakes and the sun forced them to sweat out the toxins, they cruised with joy, revving their engines to cars that passed with horns honking and bobbing and weaving through traffic lazily when they crossed through actual towns. They found themselves at the Oklahoma border around lunch and when they stopped, they checked the packs strapped down to the backs of their bikes and the saddlebags more thoroughly than they had been. Nothing was out of place. It wasn’t as though they were crossing out of the country or anything but more than one of them had priors in the state and they knew it was never above cops to catch people within thirty miles and the club would do anything, short of ditching their colors, to avoid that.

As they sped past the welcome sign, Rufus took the lead of the group and it seemed that Bobby wasn’t too keen on that. Despite the fact that both men were over 60 years old, they raced like the children they had been together even before John had brought the club into existence. The leather on their backs may have faded from years gone and roads worn and blood shed, but no matter what patches were on the front, whether they proclaimed “V. President” or “Bad Company” or simply “Freedom” or nothing at all, “Wayward Sons” would be emblazoned on the back with the same Colt and Kurdish knife crossed under a sigil-ridden red pentagram. Bobby’s rocker may have changed from Kansas, to Nomad, to S. Dakota, back to Kansas within the forty years, but he wore it with as much pride and significance and it was good to see Rufus and Bobby’s cuts identical again. The two of them were bookends in the Winchester boys’ minds; maybe not in such an extreme way as they themselves were, but they were tied to each inextricably. 

But of course, that was short lived. They hadn't been speeding along for very far with glee in the race between their two eldest members when they saw red and blue in their side mirrors. No one was able to hear them, but it wasn't hard to tell that every single member of the Wayward Sons Motorcycle Club swore under their breath. Adam, who'd been in the rear but still doing well above the speed limit to keep up with the rest of them pulled over first and Bobby and Rufus found their way to the shoulder quickly, marking the front of the line. Garth continued on in the van, nodding at the line as he crept by them. He’d find them later. The rest of the club was a respectful distance away from the kid, trying to see what he'd do on his own, but when they'd killed the engines in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma, the cop’s voice carried.

"Do you know how fast you were going, sir?" he drawled marking him as a southern native. Cas could pick out the distinct Oklahoman nature of the accent.

"I think about 70, officer," Adam responded. Dean would have put money on it being closer to 75 if not 80, but Adam lied with a straight face. He and Sam exchanged a glance at it.

"I clocked you at about 78, son. You just entered a 65 zone which is awfully lucky for you."

"Officer, I'm sorry, my brother and I put this bike together and we could've done something off with the speedometer wiring." Adam's face displayed such sincerity that Sam almost wondered if they did wire the speedometer incorrectly. Dean scoffed next to him and muttered out of the side of his mouth that there was no way any of the wiring on that bike was wrong.

“Those your brothers? Your actual brothers,” the cop said looking ahead to the rest of the club. “You’re new to this club but you call ‘em your brothers already?”

“Those two closest are my actual brothers, so yes,” Adam said. He caught himself and tacked on a sir deferentially. 

“Tell your brothers to slow down or their prospect’s gonna get them all tickets. I gotta run your info, kid, so hand over your license and registration.” Adam nodded and handed over the corresponding documents to the man. It was then that Sam panicked; the bike’s registration remained in Bobby’s name and none of them could know how that officer would react to whatever Adam told him, even if it was the truth. 

“If he tries to keep him here and keep that bike, what are we doing?” Sam hissed at his older brother. Dean turned around on his bike so that he was no longer facing backwards to look at Adam but turned his head to regard Sam with a resigned look sitting on his face. 

“We can outrun him, or knock him out, or shoot him, none of which are options I like.” The low pitch of their voices allowed them to hear when the cop returned to Adam and began to speak.

“This bike isn’t registered to an Adam Milligan. And you’re an awfully long way from Minnesota.” Adam blanched. “You steal this bike?” His blanching morphed into vehement protests. Thankfully, Bobby could hear the conversation as well and rumbled back toward the newest prospect. If it weren’t for the leather vests, Bobby and Adam both might have been the type to look like they could charm a cop; as it was, the vest and the bikes and Dean and Sam and Gordon and Cas and the tattoos visible on them looming in the background wasn’t doing them any favors. 

“That bike oughta be registered to a Robert Singer. That’s me.” The cop regarded Bobby over the reflective sunglasses he had on. The image of the club bounced back at Adam in them. “The kid didn’t steal the bike. We’ll get the registration switched over real soon.” He tried a quick smile, but the cop looked unmoved and Bobby didn’t risk it by holding it too long. 

“You see that you do.” The cop took in Adam’s face‒ eyes darting from Bobby to the cop and bottom lip disappearing behind teeth that chewed at it. He caught the flick of Adam’s gaze when it headed back towards the rest of the club where Dean was still turned around and Cas was fiddling with his phone and the others had varying looks of interest on their faces. Whatever he saw compelled him to keep on. “I’m gonna give you the benefit here, kid; I’ll let you off with a verbal warning, but I’m gonna take down your information and in six months I’m gonna call you and you’re gonna tell me you’re not a member of this gang anymore. You’re gonna tell me you’re not mixed up in this kinda thing.” 

He was looking into Adam’s eyes once the prospect had kept his head and his eyes steady. Adam didn’t move, hand fisted at his jean and mouth in a straight line. The nervousness had drained out of his face to be replaced with a blankness that belied his anger. Bobby, next to him, could see that his one heel was digging into gravel, hard.

“Can you do that for me, son?”

“You’d better just give me the ticket and let me on my way then, officer,” Adam stated after a moment. His tone remained respectful, but his head was cocked to the side in defiance. Bobby snapped his head around to look at the younger man and up ahead, with his back turned so neither Adam nor the officer could see it, Dean smiled. 

“What?” 

“If you letting me off with a warning is conditional to checking up on me, then you’d better just give me the ticket.” The repetition of the statement echoed across the southern plains, uncommonly loud. 

“I‒” but whatever the cop was, or whatever he would do, or whatever he was about to threaten Adam with was lost to the sound of a Harley starting up. Dean revved his engine and scowled over his shoulder.

“I don’t need your advice, sir,” Adam said, once again trying to remain as respectful as possible, but his voice was firm. “So if you want to ticket me, fine, I understand, but if not, we have a rally to get to.”

“I will be on your ass from here to damn Mexico if you go that far, boy,” the cop growled, taking his glasses off and putting his hand on his hip. 

“Why don’t you just give him a ticket?” Bobby asked. When the man didn’t respond, Bobby remained silent for a moment waiting. His eyes narrowed and dipped to the cop’s badge then slipped to his car. “You know your license plates are expired, officer?” 

The man whipped his head around to look at his plates and Bobby’s fist connected with his jaw solidly, once, then twice, and bloodying his knuckles, a third time and the officer went down. Once the man had crumpled to the ground, Bobby sprung into action. 

“Ash, hack into that system and get the kid’s info out of there,” Bobby yelled over Dean’s bike. “Adam, get that pad of paper out of his damn hands and smash his walkie.”

“Take his gun, while you’re stealing off him, too,” Ash said as he moved past him on the way to the car. 

“Move faster, you assholes,” Dean barked. “We’re sitting fucking ducks with a knocked out cop next to us!”

“Shoot out the tires,” Bobby told Adam. Adam stared at him only briefly, eyes wide. Before Bobby could repeat the order, Adam went to it. He held the gun in both hands, shaking conspicuously, and fired; he hit the wheel well first, then missed the meat of the front tire, grazing it and lodging a second bullet into the well, but the air hissed out of it nonetheless. The bullet hit the back wheel on Adam’s next try.

“I’da killed you if you hit my bike, man,” Ash yelled from where he was getting back onto his Dyna. “Info’s wiped, let’s blow this joint.”

Bobby had a hand out for Adam to give him the gun and he shoved it into a saddlebag after clicking the safety on. As they sped off, every last one of them was going more than 78 miles per hour. 

They’d crossed into Texas, nearly to the place just outside of Perryton where they were to meet Bobby’s contact when they finally pulled off the side of the road. Garth was there already, singing along to something on the radio that Dean would deny recognizing at all. The space had clearly been a rest area in a former life, now reduced to cracked asphalt with weeds and dust pushing their way to the surface and a view of the nothing that took up the Texas panhandle. Nothing and windmills and conservative little towns that voted Republican; not exactly the sort of place that would take kindly to a motorcycle gang running their drug deals through it, but it couldn’t be helped. 

After a moment where the only sound was the whistling of the wind and the cooling down of the engines, Adam spoke up.

“So do we usually just punch out cops?” He put it mildly, but his leg was bouncing from nerves. 

“That wasn’t a cop,” it was Ash that spoke up. Dean looked up in surprise. “His computer wasn’t rigged up to anything on the right side of the law.”

“You sure?” Sam asked. Ash nodded and Bobby did as well. 

“You think I just punched a damn cop for no good reason, boy? How stupid do you think I am?” No one could tell if it was directed at Sam or Adam or even Dean who still looked fairly dumbstruck before his face slid into a laughing smile. Bobby reached down into the saddlebag and dug out the gun they’d stolen off the man. He tilted it so the slowly setting sun shone on the space where the serial number should have been. What appeared to be numbers from further away, up close could be deciphered as random file markings. “The plates gave him away.” 

“So I really wasn’t in danger of ever getting a ticket?” Adam asked for confirmation. Ash and Gordon both laughed.

“No, but you handled it like a pro would have,” Dean grinned and reached out a hand and clapped him in the shoulder. Adam gave a small half smile with a half-assed glare in response. 

“Just wanted to clear that up before we got to our meeting spot,” Bobby explained. He held his hand out where the gun still sat loosely and Adam glanced down at it. Bobby jiggled his hand a little at Adam, urging him to take it. “Unless you got one of your own we don’t know about, congratulations, you got yourself a gun. Take it in case this meeting goes south.”

“This meeting likely to go south?” Dean asked archly. Bobby shook his head at Dean as Adam reached over and took the gun, the tremors in his hands from earlier replaced by a steadiness. The prospect reached behind him to tuck the gun into his jeans and gave his shoulders a little shake when his leather had fallen back down as though to adjust. His face remained impassive and Gordon looked over with a smirk.

“Don’t worry, kid, you still haven’t been party to knocking out a cop,” Gordon told him. “We don’t usually have you do that until you’re a full member.”

They were all starting their bikes again and Adam took the time to flip Gordon the bird before pulling out onto the road.

The sun was a while from setting when they arrived at the location. It wasn’t until it was starting to sink in the sky that they were no longer alone in the empty factory they’d been able to coordinate as the spot. They’d been able to pull their bikes into an alcove invisible from the road; whoever Bobby’s contact was here, they’d thought of everything Dean had asked about. 

The club could hear steps and half of their immediate reactions were to reach for their guns; even Garth’s reaction was to tense up into some sort of fighting stance. As the sound came closer, Dean couldn’t help but twist his face into a question; ‘Heels?’ he mouthed at Sam. Sam nodded hesitantly, then shrugged at his brothers continued confusion. 

“Do you greet everyone with a hand on your gun?” the question came in a lilting British accent and Bobby was the only one to reverse his progress towards his weapon; everyone else except Dean paused in theirs. “Hello, Bobby.”

“This is your contact?” Dean asked incredulously, his hand behind him on the butt of his gun, waiting to inch it out of his waistband. From the looks on the other’s faces, they felt the same way. The woman turned a glare on Dean, the force of it hitting Sam as well. He couldn’t help but notice that she was gorgeous with her slightly curling brown hair and wide green eyes and slim build. The brown leather and the low heeled boots she had on were much more conservative than the clothing Ruby wore around, but the set of her mouth was just as determined and cocky. She looked at Dean with just a touch less venom.

“Bela Talbot, meet the members of the Wayward Sons, Kansas chapter,” Bobby said with a nod at the group. “Sons, meet Bela Talbot, middleman extraordinaire for anything you could need.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” she said, still staring at Dean as though he were a piece of trash rattling in the wind in her path.

“Because I care about‒” Dean started. Sam jammed an elbow into his side and got a mutter ‘fuck you’ for his trouble, but he shut up. Bela smirked in response and Dean scowled when she turned to Bobby after giving the rest of the club a glance. It was then that they noticed there were more people with Bela. She didn’t seem to care about introductions for the clean cut young Asian man or the two white men who looked like they’d seen better days, and probably the inside of a jail cell or two, with her. 

“You indicated you had the need to unload something?” Bela ended the sentence as though it were a question. 

“You indicated you could take 500 grams of heroin and get us paid for an exchange,” Bobby replied, not keeping the question she had in his voice. 

“We didn’t agree on price when we spoke on the phone. I can’t give you anything over 10 grand.”

“It’s worth 50,” Cas spoke up. 

“I know that, but if you wanted street prices you’d have to sell it on the street and I thought you club boys weren’t drug dealers,” Bela responded, looking at Cas without malice.

“We’re not,” Dean’s tone hard and contemptuous when he answered. Bela turned and her eyes flicked down Dean’s body, taking in the tattoos before returning to his eyes. Green burned at green. 

“You’re a stone’s throw from one, so don’t act like you’re better than me, Dean Winchester.” Dean continued to glare even when she turned her back to him to regard Bobby once more. “I can only give you 10 grand because I have to make my money. I can give you 10% of the profit to float back to your supplier. But only because of Flagstaff, Bobby.” 

Bobby nodded, his look not softening in light of her gentleness at all. “Can you move that much of it fast?”

The kindly look on Bela’s face morphed into one of annoyance. “Of course I can. I trust the trip was without incident?” Bobby nodded and Adam’s hand twitched slightly. “Your youngest is awfully tense,” Bela pointed out. She hadn’t turned her head at all, but she raised an eyebrow at Bobby. 

“Nothing happened to fuck with the product or us moving it, don’t worry,” Dean answered for Bobby. 

“We had our own dealing, but we took care of it. Nothing at all for you to be worried about,” Bobby reassured when she paid no attention to Dean. She regarded Bobby for a moment longer before she turned. 

She motioned at the men she’d brought in with her. “Send a few of your boys out with mine to move the stuff if you don’t trust mine alone. I’ll have Glenn get the money.” She tossed her keys at the Asian man and he headed toward a door. 

“Garth, take Adam and Ash and move the stuff,” Bobby requested. As they walked off, he continued. “Thanks for doing this, Bela.”

“Heroin is a bit below my pay-grade, but‒”

Dean didn’t even bother to mutter when he cut her off with a sarcastic “Oh, I’m sure.” He wasn’t sure when he’d gone from wanting to shake Bobby’s contact’s hand for having set up a good drop to hating the woman in front of him, but he wouldn’t be volunteering to handle relations with her. 

She turned to him and he leveled his gaze at her, challenging. She smiled and told him, “We should really just have angry sex and get it over with, don’t you think?” 

Dean crossed his arms and tried not to sputter. He hadn’t expected that response at all and he struggled on what to say back. “Don’t objectify me.”  
Her smile widened but she turned. “Come on, Bobby, let’s catch up.” She linked an arm through one of his and led him away despite his bewildered look.  
Dean caught his brother watching the way the woman’s ass looked walking away in her tight jeans. He laughed quietly to himself and once she was out of earshot, asked his brother with a joke in his tone.

“What is with you and the bad girls, Sammy?”

Sam cut his eyes sideways and saw his brother acknowledge where his eyes had been. He gave a half-smile back and replied, “Hey, I tried the good girl when I went away to Stanford. She still got dragged into my shit and killed for it, so I’d rather not have the guilt on my head. A bad girl will get herself into trouble. I’d rather know that than think it was my fault.”

“And you?” Dean aimed at Cas, who’d been looking off at Bobby and Bela as though he really had to keep an eye on them. He kept shifting his look from them to where he’d seen the back door, expecting someone to walk through it. 

“What?” Dean didn’t repeat his question, just cocked his head to look at Cas with mild disbelief and a whole lot of inquiry. 

“I’m her sponsor, Dean. I’m not in a relationship with her.”

“No one believes that, Cas.” The fact that it was Gordon who responded was a mark of exactly how true that statement was. 

“I’m not sayin’ you’re gonna marry the girl, but I know you’re sleepin’ with her. We all saw her shove her tongue down your throat, Clarence,” Dean replied. Cas rolled his eyes. He was saved from replying by the return of the rest of the club and Bela’s men. Glenn was carrying a black bag that was only a bit smaller than the bags the club had loaded the heroin into. He stopped in front of them and gave a slight nod to them, not saying anything. The other group walked in a moment later, carrying the bags the Sons had loaded up that morning. 

“It’s all there, boss; scale out in that van of theirs,” one of Bela’s men told her when she came back, arm still linked in Bobby’s. She smiled and gestured to Glenn. He set the bag on the bench next to him and unzipped it, showing off the cash. Cas looked over at it and Dean could see the calculations he was running in his head while Ash came to inspect it closer. He nodded at Bobby.

“10 grand.”

“Load the drugs, boys,” Bela ordered. “We’ll be on the road in a minute.” Her men didn’t bother to nod, just snapped into action, taking the bags with them. They didn’t bother to acknowledge the motorcycle club as they moved out. “I’ll send you the 10% through the normal channels?”

“That’ll work,” Bobby answered. “How ‘bout you come to us next time instead of making us haul ass to Texas?”

“There shouldn’t be a next time, Bobby. Until you steal a Picasso or need a first edition Lovecraft, we probably won’t need each other’s’ services again.”

She was heading out the door behind her men when Dean turned to Bobby. “So she’s a thief?”

She turned to face him. “No. A great thief.” 

With that, she was gone, leaving Sam snorting out a laugh and Dean shaking his head. The rest of the club seemed more concerned with divvying up the money, knowing they’d be packing it separately to be less suspicious.

“Remember, you can’t go spending all that money at this rally. The club needs it,” Bobby said as they were packing the cash into their bikes.

“The club don’t need all of it,” Rufus pointed out. Even Bobby laughed and they were on the road, the sun setting at their backs. 

***

It was hot in Amarillo, and the men of the Wayward Sons Motorcycle Club were all sweating in their leathers, but none of them were willing to forego the colors at the bike rally that Saturday. They’d been giving head nods to every other club, proudly outlaw and legitimate alike, and recognized a number of people. There were people who recognized Cas’s work and he’d set things up so that he’d be able to do work for people without ever traveling out of Freedom. Dean ran into an old friend from Louisiana and caught up with him. All in all, the club was happy; their run had gone far more smoothly than it could have and they were surrounded by people who didn’t think a thing of the myriad of tattoos they sported or the patches on their vests or the way their bikes screamed outlaw. They talked engines and pipes and paintjobs with anyone who struck up the conversation and drank as soon as they woke up. They never once reached for their guns. It was late in the day when the only problem they might have had was avoided.

“Oh, shit,” Dean muttered as he spilled his beer over the rim of his cup and onto the person he’d run into. That person turned out to be a woman, rich red hair that fell past her shoulders to frame her heart-shaped face and slim build. She brushed the back of hand across the leather Dean had spilled on, calling attention to the fact that she too was wearing a cut, the right side of which sported a Vice President’s patch. She looked up annoyed. “I’m so sorry,” Dean said. He saw her take in his cut before she cast her eyes down a little in a semblance of an eye roll before looking up again.

“It’s alright,” she said with a small smile. “Leather’s pretty waterproof.”

With the smile, Dean couldn’t help but notice she was rather beautiful. “Still, let me buy you a beer.” He smiled back slightly, trying for charming. Her smile widened and she nodded with an alright. “I’m Dean. Whose colors you wearing?”

She turned so he could see the back of her vest. A crooked halo sat atop a pair of brass knuckles and her rockers proclaimed “The Fallen, East Texas.” There wasn’t a 1 pecenter patch to be seen so when she turned back to face him, he couldn’t help but ask.

“That doesn’t seem like a forward question when you don’t even know my name, Dean Winchester?” She was flirting, but he was too caught off guard by her knowing his last name.

“How do you‒”

“I’ve heard of your club. We have a chapter in St. Louis.” Realization dawned on Dean as she went on. “I’m Anna.”

“Haven’t worked with your club in a long time. Sorry I asked about the patch.”  
“So you just ask random women if they’re criminals?”

Dean looked down with a smile. “Maybe part of me knew,” he answered. Sam showed up at his elbow and Dean made an introduction.

“Your St. Louis chapter used to run through Lawrence with parts, didn’t it?” Sam asked after a minute, recognizing the symbol instantly. Anna nodded. “Our VP used to get stuff from them.” Dean excused himself to hurry off to the beer tent, still wanting to make up for spilling on the woman. When he returned with an extra beer in his hand, there were more women wearing matching leathers next to Anna. He caught the tail-end of her telling Sam that the women around her were Rachel and Hael and Hester. Dean tried not to scoff at the names. He handed Anna the beer and she grinned at him. The woman, Hester, Dean thought, wearing the president’s patch side-eyed him, but didn’t make an issue of it as they fell into a conversation about the merits of Harley-Davidson over the Indian engine. 

Dean couldn’t help but continue to flirt with the cute redhead he’d spilled on earlier, but she didn’t seem to mind. The smile Jo had tried to hide yesterday before they left came unbidden to his mind and he felt a stab of guilt before pushing it down easily. He didn’t know how long he and Sam stood there talking before Bobby meandered up to them, telling them that the rally was moving along. As they were saying goodbye, Anna leaned forward and kissed Dean on the cheek. He felt himself blushing slightly and blamed the beer.

“Our clubs could work together again,” the woman Dean was fairly certain was named Rachel said. Sam nodded.

“If we need a contact in Kansas, you’ll be there?” Anna asked. Dean and Sam both nodded. She smiled. “We’ll be in touch, then. See you later on.”

As the women walked on, heading towards their own bikes, Sam smirked at his brother. They moved back toward the club and the parking lot their bikes were in.

“I don’t wanna hear a thing about me having a thing for the bad girls. Criminal biker chicks? Really?” Sam asked his brother. Dean laughed and told his brother to shut up and they walked.

They were happy, and so were the rest of the members of the club. It was easy to forget that part of the reason they were so far from home was because their usual means of life was cut off since they’d been caught and part of their club was thrown in jail.

But for their president, who hadn’t been able to wear his patch in months because of the fact that they’d been caught, it wasn’t difficult. John Winchester couldn’t help but sneer at the man who sat across from him. 

“What do you want, Azazel?”


	9. Gimme Shelter

Bobby received the first shipment from Bela in the next two weeks, the cash smuggled in with a set of factory ready Screamin’ Eagle pipes. In the argument about whether to actually float the money to Lucifer, Sam’s point that it would be a gesture of good faith to give him part of the money won out. Of course bringing him the money ended up being Dean and Sam and Cas meeting with Ruby and Meg. Dean stopped counting how many times he had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes after the first ten minutes of feeling distinctly like a fifth wheel. 

“When will you be ready to do this second run?” Ruby asked. They were sitting in a diner, the only patrons haunting it at 3:42 in the morning. Even the one waitress working had stepped out after bringing them their food. Dean watched her chain smoking and chatting on her phone near the door. Ruby was popping a fry from the plate Sam had slid toward her into her mouth and staring expectantly at the three men.

“When can you get us the product?” Dean answered. 

“Hope you got bungees with you because right now,” Meg said, a smirk on her lips. Dean’s eyebrows rose in surprise. 

“You didn’t think maybe you should have warned us of that?” Sam asked, turning to Ruby. She shrugged. Dean shook his head and clenched his jaw. Ruby ignored that and went on. 

“You’ve talked to the contact already haven’t you?”

“We talked to one of them,” Cas said. He blew across his coffee, making the liquid ripple, before taking a sip. “Mort, I believe?”

“Mort’s in Oklahoma City. Marshall is the one in Kansas City‒ the Missouri side. Sal’s in St. Louis,” Meg explained to jog his memory.

“Then, yes, it was Mort. He was British.”

“We didn’t do anything but make contact and tell him we had a mutual friend,” Sam pointed out. Ruby waved a hand dismissing the information. 

“He’ll be ready to take the stuff as soon as you can bring it to him. Marshall might get a little pissy with such short notice, but Mort’s always ready to go with a shipment.” She seemed content to give them information only when she wanted and to eat her fries, so after a moment of silence, Dean turned to Meg.

“You wanna load this shit up? I’d like to actually sleep sometime tonight. Some of us have real work to do in the morning.”

“Someone’s awfully cranky; you not gettin’ any, Winchester?” One corner of her mouth curled up as she said it and her eyes mocked him. He just glared in response and stood up from the chair he’d pulled up the edge of the booth backwards. The scrape of it across the floor was cacophonous in the late night neon-buzzing restaurant.

Dean and Meg left the diner and Dean stopped and said something to the waitress with a smile. She blushed a little and flicked her cigarette away before heading back inside. She brought out the water pitcher and after she asked if she could get the three people still at the table anything else, she walked away to let them talk in peace.

“Don’t let your brother get an attitude with Mort.”

“Dean knows what he’s doing,” Cas said. 

“We do this sort of thing pretty regularly, Ruby, I think Dean will be able to handle himself,” Sam said, confirming Cas’ assessment. She tilted her head to regard him severely and when he stared back she let the look drop. 

“For the record, I warned you, alright?”

And Sam couldn’t help but think of that warning when they were dismounting from their bikes in Oklahoma City, the heroin secured in packs and the van like it had been for Perryton. The previous run had gone so smoothly that it seemed inevitable that something here would go wrong. 

Instead of a barn or an unused factory, this time they had their bikes parked in the alley, conspicuously hidden by dumpsters and wooden pallets, in back of a pizzeria. Ruby had deadpanned that the man liked food and that was the only explanation they’d gotten for that seemingly strange behavior. Only four of them, the three who’d been running between Lucifer and the club plus Bobby, went inside, the rest staying and trying to blend in with the scenery.  
When the door opened, the smell hit Dean and his mouth watered. Even if the food was a front, it seemed to be made well, emulating Chicago style deep-dish and Sam had to hit out at his brother’s arm to make him follow up the stairs where one of the cooks was pointing. He eyed the leathers as they ascended, but Cas matched his stare until he looked away, back to the green pepper he was slicing. The stairs creaked with every footfall from the men’s boots and when they reached the top, they had to halt in front of a dark wood door with a knocker shaped in a gothic style enameled in pewter and white. Bobby grabbed it and rapped out a tuneless beat.

“Enter,” they heard. Dean scrunched up his face in distaste, but the four of them pushed the door open and walked through into an office decorated spartanly in the same dark wood as the door. The man sitting in the winged back chair was old with prominent cheekbones but with jet black hair pushed back that showed a widows peak. The boredom on his face neared irreverence and Sam could feel himself snap to on edge. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the rest of the club members stiffen in response to the man’s presence as well. Dean glanced over at Bobby and flicked his eyes to the side, trying to tell the man to speak, but Bobby just looked back at him with the thought “This was your fool idea, you talk, idjit’ screaming from his face.

Dean cleared his throat.

“You’re different than the men Lucian usually sends me,” the man drawled before Dean worked up the nerve to speak. 

“Well, I’m glad of that,” Dean finally spoke cracking a rakish smile. The man didn’t seem to want to return the gesture. Dean’s smile fell in the face of such disdainful indifference and he made a move to go on. “I’m Dean‒”

“I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you.” The interruption caught every one of the club members off guard. They stared at the accented man and he continued, explaining himself without sounding like it was justification, “You’re hired middle-men, who work for a man I don’t particularly like who thinks he is far more important than he is. I’ve been in this far longer than he has and Mortimer is a much more recognizable name than Morgenstern in the circles he tries to enter. Your little motorcycle club doesn’t matter one iota to me.”

No one said anything for a moment, the four leather clad men barely doing anything other than blinking. Dean’s jaw ticked and Sam cut his eyes sideways at him, willing his brother to hear his mental plea of staying calm. He now understood why Ruby had given him the warning. By some miracle, he seemed to; his shoulders relaxed minutely.

“Why do you work with him then?” Bobby failed to even try to mask his annoyance at his sergeant at arms at the question. Sam was just grateful his brother’s tone was curiosity and not rage. 

The other man finally cracked a small smile, seeming to indulge Dean. He didn’t answer the question though, instead allowing the room to fall back into near silence.

“We have your product,” Cas said, breaking the quiet. Mort’s smile widened then. 

“Good,” he said as he stood up from the desk; he was shorter than he’d looked sitting down, but despite the fact that even Cas, who was the shortest one in the room‒ if barely‒ had an inch or so on him, he seemed to take up more space than any of them ever wanted to. As he stood, he grabbed the silver tipped cane that had been leaning against the desk and headed toward the door. His gait gave away that he didn’t need the cane, but as he struck it out to the floor right in front of Bobby’s feet, it was easy to see why he kept it in his hands. “If there is anything wrong with my product, not only will you not get the money to return to your boss, but you’ll also not make it out of Oklahoma with all your members.”

With that he pushed open the door and expected the other men to follow him. As they passed through the kitchen again, he moved his hand to bring one of the men who stood there making pizzas into the group. 

“Why a pizzeria?” Dean excelled in their line of work the same reason he did with women: he charmed people as easy as he intimidated them. The majority of the time it was a good thing and it had gotten them out of a number of scrapes in the past, but Sam could barely conceal the way his hands curled into fists and twitched to reach up and hit his older brother in the back of the head right now for that same behavior. 

“Why do you use the front you do?” It wasn’t Mortimer who responded but his cook.

Dean shrugged, conceding the point and they were outside. Mortimer stood with both hands on the cane in front of him and cut his eyes towards the four men who had come to his office. Sam stepped forward and unlocked the back of the van. 

As Mortimer moved to examine the bags in the vehicle he turned to Dean and told him, “I like him. He doesn’t talk so much.” 

Dean’s face closed a little as though he were offended, but he didn’t appear to be ready to give a snarky comeback. 

“All we’ve done is ship it,” Cas explained while Mort and his man went through the packages. “If there’s something not to your specifications, it’s not on our end but Morgenstern’s. As you said, we’re middle-men.” Mort’s cook nodded at him and picked up the bags, moving inside.

Mort turned and said “You all get to keep your appendages and your lives.”

“Well, we’d also like to be paid,” Dean pointed out, voice unyielding. After a moment of Mort leveling his eyes at Dean, Dean flashed a brief, tight smile. “Being good at our job means getting paid.” He finished with a shrug, hands still dug into the pockets on his vest, and a tilt of his head. He’d relaxed his body and the door behind him opened again, the same cook as before walking back out with a new bag in his hand. He strode back to the back of the van and unzipped it, flashing stacks of bills. He zipped it back up and pushed it further into the van. With a quick look at Garth, who was standing near the driver’s side door fiddling with the keys, whether out of obliviousness or affected nonchalance, the cook gestured at the doors. Garth looked up at the movement and nodded with a grin that bordered on goofy. Rufus rolled his eyes. The back doors of the van were slammed and the cook re-entered the restaurant without a word. 

“Your payment isn’t my problem,” Mort started. He stood with both hands on his cane and continued, “That money is meant for your employer.”

“We know,” Bobby nodded without a trace of the exasperation he must have been feeling. Mort nodded back and began to return to his business.

“Just an old man’s observation,” he said over his shoulder. Garth was already opening the door to the van and Gordon had swung a leg over his bike. Cas was fishing his keys out. They all stopped to listen. “Lucian Morgenstern may be an upstart, but he plays a dangerous game. And you’re in far, far over your heads.” Sam felt the words in his gut. He didn’t want to look any of the men he’d been inside with in the eye.

“Pleasure doing business with you too,” Dean said as the door closed. He was sure the man heard him. No one said anything as they mounted their bikes and prepared for the ride home. Before he brought his Dyna to life, Dean looked up with a glint in his eyes. “Is there a deep dish place between here and home?”

“Idjit,” Bobby muttered. After that the only sound was the growl of the machines that carried the Wayward Sons on to Freedom.

***

Sam brought up Mort’s parting shot to Ruby a few nights later when he was sitting on her couch. She didn’t even bother to look at him as she reassured him, digging through her cupboards for something to skewer the olive in her martini with and telling him that Mort just doesn’t like her father. Sam left it at that, ignoring the voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Dean that told him he’d come to Ruby with this for simple reassurance instead of discussing it with the club like an adult. He was staring at a photo on the wall of Ruby and her sister in front of something that looked like a bar‒ there’s a blurry bike in the background that seemed familiar, but Sam wouldn’t be able to place it even if he were actually paying attention‒ when she came in, martini in hand and sat down close to him. 

“He’s wrong, Sam. Things have gone well so far, haven’t they?” He didn’t look like he was going to answer so she repeated it and putting a hand on his chin to urge him to look at her. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. She leaned and kissed him, gently, pulling back before he could deepen it. She slid a little so she could lean back against the couch instead of against him. 

“When are you going to do this next run?” she asked. Sam shrugged and plucked the martini glass out of her hand and set it on the table. He ignored the noise of protest she made. “You don’t know?” she asked annoyed and disbelieving. 

Sam shook his head. “No, and let’s not talk business right now.”

Her demand for answers got lost in the noises she made as Sam divested her of her jeans and slid to his knees in front of the couch and his mouth found her clit.

***

It was another three weeks before the club was on their way to Kansas City, led by muscle memory and the forward pull of the Harleys they sat astride as though the bikes themselves knew the way without their riders. The hour drive was instinctual for everyone except Adam but he could feel it in the rest of them; he’d nearly thrown himself off the Softtail trying to follow the exits they took without signaling at least twice and Dean waved a hand in apology. 

Despite having been told how smoothly things went last time with Mort, Ruby and Meg had both been at the clubhouse to see them off. Meg hadn’t said anything, just communicated whatever she wanted to say to Cas quietly and without fanfare. She’d been doing that more often in the three weeks since the club’s Oklahoma City run, still rolling her eyes and condescending everyone but Cas, but she was far more subdued about it. Ruby however, of course had made a show of saying goodbye to Sam and reminded the club of their responsibility to Lucifer Morgenstern. Even Meg had glared at her sister. Jo had used the distraction of Ruby’s display to lean in quick and kiss Dean on the cheek; he’d pulled back and looked at her confused. 

“Be careful alright?” she said. Before he could get out whatever it was he was going to say, she went on. “Don’t, Dean. Just, be careful.” She’d run off when her mother was calling for her to make sure to bring up another case of whiskey for when they’d be back. The look she’d given him when she turned her head had been in his mind the whole drive. He shook it off when they pulled off to put helmets on when they got into Missouri. Dean thought he saw Ash grumbling about the headgear still when they got on 670 East to get into the city. 

They were headed out to the north-eastern outskirts of the city, an old junk yard that their contact knew. Dean’s hand curled tighter around the throttle at the idea of being exposed, the bike revving up before he caught himself. It was another twenty minutes before they pulled up to the address they had been given. No one else was there and Dean and Bobby shared a glance before Bobby sent Gordon and Adam to circle the place to make sure they weren’t just being set up. They could hear the highway in the distance, but the only sound they as a group contributed was pop and crackle of the Harleys’s pipes cooling down. Adam and Gordon returned quickly, shaking their heads that no one was around. Everyone remained quiet while they waited.

It took longer than they would have liked, but not really a long while, for them to be able to hear a car approaching. Dean whistled as it came into sight. A red ‘65 Mustang Fastback lead the short line in front of two black town cars. Dean and Bobby were the only two without their hands visibly at their guns when the door to the Mustang opened and out stepped a man in a tailored suit and red and white striped tie; he didn’t seem to be sweating despite the mid-summer Missouri heat. 

He smirked at the posture of most of the club.

“You’re acting as though I’m liable to go off at any moment,” he stated. “I’m a business man. My other men take care of the violence when I need them too, and you middle men are such vicious little animals.”

“Hell of a way to start a business meeting,” Gordon said from where he was leaning against the seat of his bike still. The dark haired man turned his smirk to Gordon in response. He held his gaze for a moment before turning to address the group at large. He spread his hands out in front of him as though welcoming a guest. 

“Gentlemen, name’s Marshall. You’re right to keep your hand on your guns. But let’s get to business.”

***

“John, you wound me,” the blond with eyes so light they looked yellow at the right angle said in response to the demand. “We can’t just talk like old friends?”

“What do you want, Azazel?” John repeated. The sneer had fallen off his face but the look in his eyes was hardened by long standing hatred. The two men who sat opposite each other had helped found their respective clubs around the same time and had never had anything but animosity between them. They’d never formed a truce between their clubs‒ only self-preservation kept them from trying to kill each other outright for nearly 40 years, but they’d spilled each other’s blood onto countless bar floors and gravel blacktops. John Winchester had put the man’s name on his visitors list on a hopeful whim that in light of their growing older and both of their clubs dwindling and Freedom becoming what it was, that they could finally work together. Azazel’s facial expression said this visit was no such thing. “We’ve never been old friends, so why don’t you just cut to the chase?”

Azazel dropped his hand from where he’d placed it mockingly over his heart and let it fall to the table between them with a thump. It echoed John’s heart when he saw the beginnings of a cruel smile curling onto his face. 

“Are your sons in to visit often, John?”

“They’re here enough,” John responded flatly. Azazel’s mouth widened into a full smile for a moment before forming into a smirk. He raised an eyebrow in question. John placed his hands on the table and straightened up slightly. “They are here enough,” he repeated slowly. The other man gave him a look of parodying apology. They sat in silence, John’s fellow inmates and their guests’ conversation obviously less tense and filling the air. It was nearly a full five minutes before one of them broke and spoke up.

“Are you being treated well?” Azazel asked with his voice saying clearly that he hoped the answer was a negative. John straightened up fully and gave a disgusted sigh.

“Enough. What the fuck are you here for? Tell me or I walk and I fix the mistake I made letting you come here to talk to me.”

“Do you know what your club has been up to for the past few months?”

“Hopefully doing anything they can to make your life a living hell,” John shot at him. Azazel rolled his eyes and John clenched one of the hands he still had on the table into a fist; he weighed if it would be worth the punishment he’d receive to reach across the table and punch the rival club’s president. “And you don’t know shit about my club.”

“Oh, I don’t? Then why don’t you tell me something. How are they making their money?” Azazel searched John’s face and went on when it seemed like the man would hold out and not reply. “Are you sure it’s your club anymore? You’ve been rotting in here for a while now, and really, how often are any of them here? Why, I’d bet I’m the first visit you’ve had in months.”

John didn’t allow his facial expression to change at all despite the fact that Azazel wasn’t wrong; Sam and Dean hadn’t been to see him since they’d brought Adam and he hadn’t been able to get either one of them or Bobby on the phone for any real period of time since then either. In truth, he didn’t know what the club was doing, but assumed that since there hadn’t been any updates from his acting president that things were going smoothly even though they’d been left in a tight spot. 

“My club can handle its business,” was the only response John gave to Azazel’s observations. 

“Oh, they can,” he nodded. “But you might not like how they’re doing it. Do you want to know what they’re doing, Mr. President?” John wouldn’t answer such a mocking question but Azazel’s eyes glittered in malice, making them golden. “Do you, John?”

***

Garth and Ash were loading the bags of cash that Marshall’s men had brought from their cars into the van. Marshall’d taken his time to look over the heroin, inspecting it thoroughly and with a look on his face that said he was waiting for any excuse to find something wrong with it; he hadn’t been able to, just tutted something about how it looked like it were less pure than Morgenstern’s previous shipments. Bobby had started to shrug and Cas had spoken up, reminding the man that they didn’t have anything to do with the quality of the product, and that it had tested at nearly 80% according to the man he was in business with.  
Marshall had cut his eyes sideways at Cas, but the Wayward Son had stared back without changing expression. 

The back doors of the van slammed shut and Ash nodded at Bobby. Bobby turned to face the suited man. Marshall gave a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes at all before he too turned to nod to his men. They all ducked into the cars without question.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” Bobby was able to say without sarcasm being totally evident; the man had kept them all on edge, muscles tensed for a fight for no apparent reason, the entire deal. The only motorcycle riders who’d taken their hands off their guns had been Bobby and Garth and Ash; Bobby hadn’t wanted to at all. Even Adam, who until that first run had never even held a pistol, had kept his hand around the grip in his cut pocket. 

“You tell Lucifer that there’s only so much of this I’m willing to move unless he makes good on his promises.”

“You’ll have to tell him yourself,” Dean said. “We might be middlemen, but we’re not messengers.”

“Of course you are, sergeant. You report back to your general, and if you don’t think you’re under orders from Morgenstern then you’re dumber than you’ve shown so far. Tell him.” Marshall didn’t wait for a reply from the elder Winchester again before sliding into his Mustang again.

As the club watched the line of cars slinking out of the yard, they felt the tension lessen. Adam audibly let out a breath.

“How often is a deal that bad?” he asked, eyes moving between Sam and Dean and then to Bobby. Gordon let out a small laugh; Dean’s face broke into a half-smirk in conjunction.

“The fucked up thing is that that was a good deal,” he said. Adam’s eyes widened a fraction.

“We’re criminals and all,” Ash broke in, “but we ain’t scum like that son of a bitch.” He shuddered for effect.

They laughed a bit and allowed the fact that they were done with two of the runs they were obligated to make and had been paid melt away the lingering distaste Marshall had caused.

***

John Winchester still hadn’t answered the man sitting across from him. 

“Well, if you don’t want to talk to me, then I suppose you don’t want me to tell you.”

“Stop behaving like a god damned child, Azazel,” John finally snapped at the mocking. “What have you heard my club is doing?”

“John, you sound almost desperate,” he started up again with a smile. John stood up quickly, scraping his chair against the floor. A number of people around him looked up in agitation. He didn’t bother to give an apologetic smile or a hand wave to anyone. He made to take a step backwards when Azazel spoke again. “Sit down.”

After a moment of regarding him with narrowed eyes, John listened to what Azazel had said and sat down, dragging his chair back to the table. 

“Now who’s behaving like a child?” John narrowed his eyes further. “Would you rather know who they’re working with or what they’re moving first?” John had barely opened his mouth to respond but Azazel continued on. “Oh, I’d rather just tell you all at once. Forgive me if I pause for dramatic effect.”  
He did just that and John had to restrain himself from tapping his fingers impatiently on the table. Azazel leaned in and made a motion for John to do the same. He repeated the motion when John didn’t respond and the dark haired man let out a sigh and complied. 

Azazel grinned and whispered: “Your precious Wayward Sons are moving heroin for Lucifer Morgenstern.”

John threw himself back to stare at the man. He didn’t verbalize his denial, but it was evident that he didn’t believe any such thing.

“It’s true,” Azzael practically crowed. “Did‒”

“How do you know?” John demanded. Azazel’s grin was wider than it had been the whole visit at John’s lack of rebuff. It was his turn to not answer and John’s to repeat himself. “Where did you hear that? How the fuck do you know?”

His mind was scrambling to put it together and he was nearly out of his seat and ready to rush past the guards to the phone to call one of his sons, or Bobby, or Rufus, or anyone wearing a Wayward Sons- Kansas patch so long as they would pick up so he could warn them. He hadn’t actually moved before Azazel qualified the conclusion he’d already come to.

“Well, who do you think told Morgenstern to use them?”

***

Sam gave a shake of his head as he threw a leg over his Dyna. His brother noticed and jerked his chin up with a furrowed brow and a “what’s up, Sammy?”

Sam shook his head with more intent, “Nothing really, just can’t shake the feeling that that guy’s gonna fuck with us somehow.”

“Nah, come on. He was an asshole, but we got paid, we dumped the product, and we’ve done alright with this deal. Quick run back home and we got one more before we’re home free,” Dean grinned at his own joke as he finished talking. Sam didn’t bother to roll his eyes but the look on his face said the same thing. “I’m serious, Sam. It’s gonna be okay.”

Sam nodded in assent and brought his bike to life. Garth was in the van in the lead followed by Bobby and then Rufus and they were already about to pull out of the yard. Sam and Dean were in the rear as they got back onto the road that would lead them to the highway. They’d been cruising along barely five minutes on the two lane pavement when they saw a group of people approaching from the opposite way in front of them. The cars were nothing fancy‒ not like the Mustang Marshall had driven and not even like the town cars that his men had been tucked away in‒ and even though they looked like they could be using their last legs to head to that junk yard, they set Sam’s teeth on edge. It took him a minute to realize what was happening when the second car jerked over into the other lane. Garth slammed on the breaks and Bobby swerved to avoid him. The first car kept rushing forward and veered sideways behind Sam, boxing the Wayward Sons Motorcycle Club in on that stretch of road. 

Adam dumped his bike trying to turn and brake and was down on the ground; Cas just barely avoided doing the same, slamming on his brake as well and getting his feet down enough to stop. As they were all attempting to keep themselves upright and out of collisions, most of the Sons were distracted from hearing the approach of other engines. Dean was able to see the five bikes racing up to them, three from behind from the East and two in front from the West. He unconsciously saw the leather on the riders and had his hand on his gun before he knew it. He was screaming at Garth to start the van which had stalled out when he braked so hard. The other man either couldn’t hear him or just couldn’t do it. Sam had gotten off his bike and was racing toward Adam to help him right the Softail while Dean was screaming. Gordon had been able to stop his bike fine and had his hand on his gun as well and called out about the bikes as well.  
Dean was still screaming at Garth to start the van and just ram the car in the road when Gordon’s yells turned into orders to duck or fire. It became obvious that the bikes, and the cars that blocked the road, belonged to the Knights of Hell. Sam saw Brady’s hand on a gun as the five bikes reached the space between the two cars. Guns were in their drivers’ hands as well‒ Crowley with an assault rifle sticking out one window and Ansem Weems with pistols pointing out his.  
Sam had gotten Adam back onto his bike and Garth had finally started the van again when the first shot rang out; the Knights had obviously been waiting to get in position before they began firing. The bullets hit the side of the van and the next one shattered the back window. Garth shoved his foot down onto the gas pedal and rammed into the car Ansem was in. The van spun the car slightly, but it wasn’t enough that Garth could pass the scene of gunfire.  
Sam was aiming at Brady, one of his bullets hitting the gas tank on his bike. The blond man swore and turned his gun from the van to Sam and Dean put a second bullet into his bike in response. Gordon hit Jake Talley in the shoulder once and Cas was aiming at Crowley in the back car. Garth threw the van into reverse and slammed into the car Ansem was now slumped over the steering wheel of again, pushing it further out of the way. 

The bullets were still flying though. As Garth was starting to back up, Dean saw him clutch at his side suddenly and crumple. 

“Ash,” Dean roared, “get in the van and drive!” He took position to cover Ash as he moved through the fray on foot, aiming at the Knight who’d turned when he heard Dean screaming.

Ash dropped his bike and threw himself at the van, bouncing off the back doors. He grabbed a handle and wrenched it open. As he was pulling himself into the back space, one of the Knights‒ a kid named Max‒ crept up behind him and reached into the van as well. Ash kicked a leg back and hit the other man in the shoulder. He kicked back again to hit him square in the face. It was too late though; Max had gotten a hand on one of the bags filled with cash and he flung it into the street. Max tried to follow it but before he could get a hand on it again, he went down. Dean turned slightly and saw that it had been Sam who’d put a bullet into the kid.

Dean was moving trying to get to the bag, but with the space they had and the bullets ricocheting, he couldn’t get his bike started and back up fast enough. Alistair swooped in; the other man’s bike hadn’t ever had to stop and he dropped his gun to grab the bag and threw it into the car door Crowley had opened. When he circled back, somehow weaving himself into the fray again, he was armed once more. Cas took a shot at the man, but grazed past his shoulder. Dean had enough time to see Alistair grin before he himself was dodging bullets. 

Ash had finally gotten to the front seat of the van after moving Garth as gently as he could. If anyone had been able to hear through the gunfire and their helmets they would have been able to hear Ash telling Garth to keep pressure on the wound and that it “was gonna be alright, man, just hold on.” The van rammed into the front car one final time and pushed it off the road and into the ditch. 

“Come on!” Ash shouted out the window and Dean echoed the sentiment. Cas was still firing as he got onto his bike but he was the first one trying to tear down the road going behind the van. Sam was screaming at Adam to get on his bike and go, shooting to distract Brady from being able to get to his gun and aim at the prospect. Gordon squeezed the throttle hard and looked over his shoulder to take one last shot at Jake. The red on his sleeve stood out bright against the white of his t-shirt and the color of his skin. Rufus’s bike had bullet holes in the saddle bags but he seemed none the worse by some miracle and was racing behind Gordon and Cas. 

“Dean, let’s fucking go!” Sam screamed from behind the van. Dean and Bobby were the only two still shooting at the Knights instead of retreating but as Sam sped away, he turned. He turned just in time to see Bobby slump over his bike and a hole appear right in between the S and A in Kansas on the patch on his back.

“Bobby!” Dean yelled. The older man’s bike dropped and Dean let his fall, scrambling over it to get to the vice president. In a rush of adrenaline, Dean managed to push the Harley off of Bobby. He felt bullets whizzing past him and knew he was in too open a spot. Bobby was still breathing and he reached for Dean. Dean knew it was dangerous but he had to move the man and hauled him into the back of the van where the door was still open. “Drive to the hospital as fast as you fucking can, Ash!”

Dean didn’t wait to see Ash nod and slammed the door of the van before sprinting back to his bike. His lungs burned, but he was distracted from that by the feeling of a bullet scraping his thigh. He was bleeding as he got his bike upright, still pumping adrenaline and unconsciously thanking his father for the number of times he’d made Sam and Dean both lift their bikes before they were allowed to ride. He turned and shot and didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing blood blossom on Brady’s shirt at his stomach before he sped away, the speedometer needle pushing 110 as he tried to put as much space between him and the bullets still flying behind him as possible. 

***

“Where’s Bobby?” Rufus demanded when Dean was the last through the clubhouse door. Dean gripped his thigh and hobbled to a chair as he answered.

“He got hit in the back. Ash hightailed it to a hospital with him and Garth.”

“Where’d Garth get hit?” Gordon asked, wincing. Sam had just started to sew him up and he grimaced in sympathy; they hadn’t had a chance to replenish the stock of painkillers they kept for emergencies. Adam took that moment to walk out of the bathroom wiping at his mouth with the back of his arm. His hands were shaking, but he clenched them into fists to stop it.

“Ribs. It was bad,” Sam answered while Dean took a swig of the bottle of whiskey on the table. “Ash should call soon. How the hell did the rest of us not get hit?”

“You were pre-med, right?” Dean directed at Adam, ignoring Sam’s question. Adam nodded. “Come learn to stitch up a bullet graze then.”

“Where did Bobby get hit in the back?” Rufus asked again. Dean looked up at him and kept silent. “Winchester, where’d he get hit?”

“Lower back. Didn’t look fatal but I had to pull the bike from him,” he admitted. Rufus muttered under his breath and slammed a hand on the table.

“What are we going to do about the bike? Or Ash’s?” Adam asked quietly while he threaded the needle and Dean undid the button of his jeans to scoot them below the wound. Dean tipped the whiskey bottle over the wound and hissed.

“More importantly what are we going to do about the fact that we just got 20 grand stolen from Lucifer Morgenstern?” Gordon asked much louder. “Fuck, Sam.”

“Sorry,” Sam said. He’d jabbed a little too deeply at the reminder that they’d been robbed as well as shot at. 

“We don’t have 20 grand to spot. Not unless Bobby’s contact gets a windfall from that first run,” Gordon continued. 

No one spoke and Sam sorted out the needle and thread he’d finished with; if he dropped it in that moment they’d be able to hear it. The moment stretched. 

“So, I’ll say it,” Cas broke the silence. “How’d they find us?”

A dam that held the tension in the room down broke as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Adam finished sewing up Dean’s leg and then everyone was on their feet.

“We fucked up in the planning somewhere,” Sam said. “Somehow‒”

“Yeah, we fucked up when he let this plan happen,” Rufus cried with a finger pointing at Dean.

“We all agreed to this plan,” Adam pointed out. “It was a club decision.”

“You don’t know shit about a club decision, kid. You shoulda never had a say in it.”

“That’s not fair, Rufus. One of our prospects just took a bullet for us‒” Sam started.

“Exactly!”

“This isn’t productive,” Cas pointed out with a sigh.

“I just wanna know who’s to blame for this,” Gordon broke in. 

“None of us‒”

“That’s horseshit!”

“Dean, you brought this plan to us,” Gordon turned to his old friend. Dean’s lips parted to speak, but he got to remain quiet as Gordon went on. “How the fuck do you think we get out of this?”

“It’s not his responsibility to get us out of this. It wasn’t even his idea,” Sam jumped in. Rufus and Gordon whirled on him and even Adam turned. Cas was the only one whose eyes were even remotely sympathetic.

“Oh, it was your idea?” Rufus snarled. “We took advice from a kid who couldn’t even bother to stick around to be a part of this club for four years?”

“Was it even your idea?” Gordon asked before Sam could defend himself. “Why the fuck did you think this was a good idea? You want this club to die so you can get yourself a normal little life? You think you get to have that after all this time still?”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“None of this is helping at all!” Adam shouted. The four of them‒ Adam, Sam, Rufus, and Gordon‒ began to shout over each other, all of them losing the thread of conversation at one point. 

“Sam,” a voice cut in, much quieter than the rest.

“Fuck you, Walker! I’ve done as much for this club as you ever have, you son of a bitch! And if you‒”

“Sam!” It was Cas trying to get his attention. He shouted that time and Sam turned to him, everyone else falling silent and turning as well. “Where did your brother go?”


	10. Us and Them

When Sam was 15, he had his heart broken for the first time. Dean, in his infinite big brother wisdom, had warned him against the girl. “She’s bad news, Sam. She’s got a thing for the bad boys and you’re a Winchester. But don’t get attached,” he’d told him. Sam had told him to fuck off, and given him the silent treatment for a week, foregoing having Dean drive him to school even. But sure enough the girl, Lila, a junior with platinum blonde hair and bright green eyes, let Sam take her out a few times. She’d come by the garage in her car‒ an early 90’s Mustang‒ and get Sam and they’d go to the movies or dinner and he’d pay for it and they’d make out to Cake and The Verve on the radio. She’d listen to Sam talk about helping out at the garage and she’d tell him about her dreams to go to New York. It lasted a little over a month, and it ended by Sam seeing her with her mouth on senior Baron Sharpe’s neck and her skirt rucked up her thighs. Sam couldn’t help but be devastated.

He’d gone home and slammed the door and threw his backpack onto the couch expecting to be alone. But instead he heard his brother shutting off the faucet in the kitchen. He appeared in the doorway with a half cut apple and a knife in his hands. He took one look at Sam’s face and knew.

“I told you she was bad news, Sammy.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam had huffed.

“I’ll go slash her tires if you want.”

“Dean!”

“Fine, but know this is the last time I’ll give you sympathy for some girl I warned you about. Next one just gets violence. Warn ‘em from now on.”  
And that was all Sam could think about as he stood in the clubhouse with the fight raging and Cas’ worried eyes on him.

“Sam, where is your brother?” he repeated. But Sam didn’t have time to answer. He was out the door and on his bike before anyone except Cas noticed. Sam knew that his brother was at least three minutes ahead of him and more than likely flying, figuring someone would notice he was gone and try to follow. Dean would spend the half an hour drive at 90 miles per hour absolutely fuming and have his hand on his gun as soon as he got off his bike. Sam wondered if he’d even take the time to set up his kick stand, or just let the beloved Dyna fall where he disembarked; he already had scratches he’d need to buff out from earlier.

Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d pushed his bike as hard down the road without bullets flying behind him. He was at Ruby’s in record time and immediately registered that the wood around the lock on the door was splintered. Dean had clearly kicked it in. Sam kicked his stand out and was through the door in seconds flat by instinct, only processing things at an unconscious level. 

Dean and Ruby were just inside her kitchen, guns drawn at each other. Ruby’s feet were bare and there was a pot of something on the stove. Neither one seemed to want to acknowledge Sam’s presence. 

“You think you’re a faster shot than me, you go for it, bitch. See how my brother reacts,” Dean told her, a smirk curling up.

“Why don’t you see how your brother reacts when you shoot his girl.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Dean gave a one shouldered sort of shrug. Sam was between them before anything else could happen. 

“Dean, stop.” No one moved. “Dean, seriously, put the damn gun down.” He whirled on Ruby, knowing it’d be smarter to trust Dean with a gun at his back than it would be to trust her with one no matter the circumstances. “You too. No one’s shooting anyone.”

“Get out of the way, Sam. This bitch set up our club. She set up our club and she got‒”

“Are you seriously this fucking slow? I didn’t set up your club. If you got caught, it’s because you got caught, dumbass.” Ruby’s words sounded incredulous, to the point where she normally would have been throwing her hands around, but they stayed steady on her gun.

“There’s no way. That plan was perfect on our end. The Knights couldn’t have known where we were or who we were meeting unless someone tipped them off. No one fucking knew.” Sam was on the verge of ripping the guns out of their hands from their lack of movement. 

“How do you‒” Ruby started but let out an indignant sound when Sam made a move toward her. He’d weighed his options but this seemed like the only thing to do. He reached out and somehow knocked the gun out of her hand, bending and picking it up quickly. Dean was about to say something triumphant when Sam turned and did the same to him.

“What the fuck, Sam?” Dean cried. His eyebrows were halfway up his forehead “You know better than to handle a loaded gun like that!”  
Sam ignored his brother, too keyed up from the scene he’d walked in on. “I told you to put the fucking guns away. Now can we talk about this like adults?” 

“Don’t think I won’t kill you with my bare hands,” Dean snarled at Ruby, moving his gaze back to her.

“Touch me and you and your precious club’d be dead within a week.”

“It might be worth it.”

“Enough, you two,” Sam yelled. Dean and Ruby continued to glare at each other but they remained silent. Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to get himself calmed down enough to have a rational discussion about this now that two people he cared about weren’t holding guns on each other. 

“And what the hell are you talking about getting caught? If you got caught what the hell are you doing here?” Ruby broke the silence, still directing her attitude at Dean. 

Sam brought his hand up, palm facing mostly downward, to still his brother. “Ruby, we did get caught. The Knights of Hell knew exactly where we were at. They stole one of the cash bags Marshall had given us. They shot Bobby and Garth. Ash had to find them a hospital outside of the city.”

“We’re lucky we’re here and not bleeding out on some fucking Missouri road or in handcuffs,” Dean flung out a hand as he pointed out. 

“Are they alright?” she asked, looking at Sam.

“Oh, like you care,” Dean snapped at her. She shot him a glare but didn’t reply.

“We don’t have any idea yet,” Sam answered. He kept his voice quiet and calm. “What we need to worry about is how they found out. Who else in the organization knew about our rendezvous today?” 

“You’re gonna need to worry about how to get back my father’s money.” Sam opened his mouth with a pained downcast look on his face and Ruby conceded. 

“Alright, we won’t talk about that right now.” She tapped her fingers against her counter in a slow rhythm.

“Who knew about the run?” Dean demanded in a voice still hard. 

“Meg, our father’s lawyer maybe, probably that bitch who’s been living with him, maybe Lillith. I don’t really know who he would have told, who he would have thought needed to know. I don’t really peak behind the curtain that often,” Ruby shrugged. She was looking only at Sam, ignoring Dean now that he didn’t have a gun in his hands pointed at her. 

“You’re the one who brought us this deal and you’re gonna say you don’t know how your father runs his business?” Dean snapped.

“I fucking don’t, alright? I brought the run to your club because I wanted to help you and knew he wanted to unload something; that’s fucking all. So you can just get it out of your little brain that I did anything wrong right now, Dean. I’ve done nothing but help you, so lay off.”

“Help us?” Incredulity lay thick in Dean’s voice. He looked ready to go on, but Sam stopped him with a glare.

He turned to Ruby with a calm expression. “Why would he have told all those people, Ruby?”

“He doesn’t work with people he can’t trust. If he did, he would have been dead by now. I’m telling you, that leak didn’t come from our end. And if it did, someone’ll be dead for it in the morning.”

“If you think that someone’s not gonna pay for the fact that our VP and one of our prospects are both in the hospital, then you’re even dumber than I thought." Ruby opened her mouth to say something but Sam cut her off. He knew if the next words out of her mouth weren’t something Dean wanted to hear that his brother would try to throttle her. He wasn’t sure she deserved to be on the end of his worry induced violence.

“Dean, go back. You left everyone at the clubhouse on the verge of tearing it down in a rage, practically. Rufus is going postal. And your sergeant at arms, man, you gotta keep ‘em in line. Get everyone back to calm, once you’re there yourself, and then we can go find out what is going on with Bobby and Garth. I’ll be right behind you.” 

“Give me my gun back and I’m out the door, little brother.” Sam looked at him hard but Dean tilted his head in disgust at him and held out his hand, impatiently giving it a shake. Sam handed him the .45. Sam hated the look on his brother’s face. Everything had gotten so fucked up and it had the potential to get worse. Sam knew sending his brother back was the right thing to do‒ after all, Dean had to act as president with John and Bobby both gone for the moment, not that Bobby wouldn’t be back within hours, Sam told himself‒ but it was also partly for selfish reasons. He’d brought this idea to the club, and with this, those who’d needed convincing wouldn’t even get the satisfaction of being smug and those who’d been on his side would be full of doubt. He was full of doubt. 

He reassured Dean, and himself, and repeated, “I’ll be right behind you.” With a nod, and a final glare at Ruby, which she returned scathingly, Dean was out the door. 

“He kicked that off the damn hinges, you know.”

“I could tell.”

“He’d better pay for the replacement.”

“He won’t. He might do it himself, but he won’t pay for you to have someone replace it. He‒”

“Sam, do you think I set you up?” Her interruption didn’t shock him. She had to be thinking that that was why he’d stayed behind for a moment. Really, he’d thought he’d stayed behind to apologize for his brother, but he still had her gun in his hand, not having slid it into the pocket of his cut or his jeans yet. It was just too natural for him to hold a gun with intent. As he looked down and realized that, he reached out and spun it around to let her take it back from his hands. 

“Well, obviously if you do, you’re not entirely convinced of it since you’re handing me my gun back.”

“Did you set us up? Is this all a set up? You and me?” He paused. Ruby’s lips pulled tight and she looked down. The way she blinked told Sam her lack of answer was because she wanted him not to have asked, not that she didn’t want to answer. Instead of making her, he went on. “We didn’t even know your father knew where were meeting Marshall at. We only knew that you and Meg knew for sure. It’s partly why Dean came to that conclusion, Ruby. It’s why I had to ask.”

“You don’t trust me,” she said flatly, but with her eyes looking a little bit watery. It was Sam’s turn not to respond. He’d spent so much of his life being taught to not trust anyone until they had that Wayward Son patch on their back that part of him still didn’t. Even when he’d been at Stanford, it had taken so long before he let Jess in truly and trusted her fully. Now, with Ruby, it didn’t matter that they’d been sleeping together for so many months; she wasn’t family so he couldn’t trust her completely. But he just didn’t see what Ruby would gain by having set them up. He couldn’t see what anyone except The Knights of Hell would gain by having set them up.

“That’s not an answer,” he said, ignoring the fact that that wasn’t an answer to her non-question either. 

“Fuck you. I wasn’t lying for Dean’s benefit. I have no illusions that you wouldn’t shoot me too, Sam. None of the things I’ve done in the past month have been for anything other than wanting what’s best for you. You think I want you in jail? To get you killed? I know what would happen if you got caught.” She’d set her gun on her countertop next to her before she started speaking. Her dark eyes flashed. 

“I get it,” he admitted with a sigh. He didn’t want to have to accuse her. 

“Good. Now get out. Go check on your friends and make sure your brother doesn’t try to kill anyone else,” she took a step toward him and put a hand on his shoulder, tilting her face up. He leaned down and kissed her briefly and she accepted it as her due before pushing him lightly toward the door. “I’ll be in town to see you soon. I’ll try to do damage control about the money with my father. See if I can’t spare some of my own money to make up for it when he blows a gasket.”

“Don’t‒ we can’t owe you that money,” he shook his head. He was moving when he went on. “You might still wanna stay out of the clubhouse for a while,” he warned, looking back when he reached the door. “Dean may not be the only one who’s had that thought.”

“But you’re still on my side,” she said.

“That may not mean much,” he muttered. She heard him though and he knew it. 

***

No one had destroyed anything by the time Sam had reached the clubhouse once again, but he swore as he pulled up nonetheless. There were two cop cars in the lot in front of Ellen’s.

“Nice of you to join us, Sam,” Sheriff Jody Mills said when he walked in the door. 

“Join you for what?” 

“Turns out someone found a couple bikes registered to Bobby and Ash on some busted road in Missouri. Jody and Kathleen here came to check up on us,” Dean told his brother. At Jody’s stern look, Dean’s face formed an apologetic look that even he didn’t believe. “Sorry, Officers Mills and Hudak, came to check on us.” Sam moved to join the rest of the club members where they were seated in the few chairs against the wall; the room was more like a hallway and served no purpose other than to make sure non-club members weren’t allowed access to the table. Ellen’s bar was all the club wanted as far as a hangout, but it was bad for business for there to be police interrogations around the townspeople who just wanted to enjoy a burger.

“Where you been, Sam?” Kathleen asked.

“Went to see my girlfriend for a little bit.”

“Oh and who might that be?” Jody inquired.

“You ain’t his mom,” Dean sneered.

“Is this an interrogation?” Sam wondered. “If you found bikes in Ash and Bobby’s names shouldn’t you be talking to them?”

“And as you can see, they’re not here at the moment,” Cas chimed in.

“Well, you see, when they found the bikes, they saw that there were bullet casings around the area. That means we really need to talk to them.”

“We haven’t seen them all day,” Gordon said.

“Now, I don’t believe that for a damn minute. Rufus, where’s Bobby?”

“Don’t you go grillin’ me, Jody. I’ve got no idea where that fool is.” Rufus’s voice was steady.

Jody crossed her arms over her chest and Kathleen rolled her eyes. “Listen‒”

“Y’all here about my bike?” Ash cut her off by walking in and cutting her off. There was still a smear of blood on his shirt, but neither Jody nor Kathleen had said anything about the blood clearly visible on Dean or Gordon. Ash didn't take the time to let anyone's eyes reach his. "I just reported it so good on you. Crack police work finding it already."

"Just reported it what?" Kathleen asked with her eyes narrowing.

"Stolen, of course. Damn thing wasn't in my drive when I got up this morning. Don't know what no good son of a bitch would take my bike in this town but it was gone."

"You're telling me the bike we just happened to find with bullet holes in it just hours ago was stolen?" Jody looked about ready to laugh right in Ash's face as she said this. He shrugged, throwing a look that said he was offended to his fellow members before turning back to her and nodding. "Is there anyone in this club willing to tell me the truth today?"

"I ain't lying; check the records. I reported it this morning. Whoever runs your online site is a hack. It needs some work. I'll do it for a discount," Ash protested. Jody put a hand on her hip and opened her mouth to speak, looking so much like someone's mom that Dean was suddenly very glad she and Bobby had never worked out. 

"I'm sure the report will be riveting. But how about Bobby? His bike get stolen too?"

"Can't say to that. Haven't seen him all day."

Jody threw her hands up in frustration. "I oughta just haul each and every one of you into the station until I get some damn answers."

"That wouldn't be exactly legal," Sam pointed out.

"I don't give a rat's ass about legal at this point, Winchester," a new voice crashed into the clubhouse.

“Oh fuck,” Dean muttered with a shake of his head. Somehow, smiling tight-lipped and condescending at them, was the man who’d arrested their father, ATF agent Victor Henriksen. 

"Yeah, 'oh fuck,'" Henriksen nodded. "It feels like it hasn't been that long since I saw you boys, and you gotta know how much I hate being in the middle of white-bread Kansas chasing down bullshit calls that aren’t gonna lead me to shit about a delusional biker gang."

"Hey-" Ash started.

"Yeah, I said it, delusional. Don't kid yourself. Now, where the hell is Singer? And I’ll arrest the first one of you who says you haven’t seen him all day.”

The entire club sat silently against the wall. Half of them wouldn’t meet any of the law enforcements’ eyes, the other half, made up of men who’d been raised by John Winchester, stared defiantly back at Henriksen’s hard gaze. Henriksen broke the silence with a quick snap of his fingers and a turn of his head.

“New kid. Where’s Bobby Singer.” He asked the question as more of a demand. Adam glanced sideways. “No, don’t look at them. You look at me and you tell me what you know. Can’t be a full member if you get sent to jail and I can wrangle an obstructing justice charge here.”

“Agent Henriksen,” Kathleen began, fully intending to get him to calm down, but he quelled her with a look.  
Adam didn’t have to turn his head, but he cut his eyes over quickly and saw Dean give a nearly imperceptible nod. “He’s out of town,” was how Adam answered the question. Sam felt his face flash into a small grin before he could stop it.

Henriksen let a wry smile out as he turned to Kathleen. “Doesn’t seem like you need to come to his defense, officer.” He turned back to Adam. “What’s your name?”

“Adam.”

“Unless you’re God’s first man, I need your last name too, punk.”

“Milligan.”

“Why’re you here? You’re what? 20? What are you doing with these guys?” He paused and took a breath before sighing. “Nevermind, you’re not gonna answer anyway.” He looked at Adam hard, as though expecting the young man to open up and confess something on principal of proving someone wrong. Adam blinked back.

Henriksen shook his head in disgust and turned to Rufus. "Turner, where's Singer?" Rufus shook his head and shrugged. Henriksen asked the same question of every club member in turn and got the same sort of answers- none of which he was looking for- until he got to Dean at the end of the line.

"Why don't you just fuck back off to whatever office you crawled out of, Henriksen? We haven't done a god damn thing."  
Henriksen took three steps forward and leaned down to be eye level with the eldest Winchester son. He took up so much of Dean's space that their breath mingled. He didn't say anything while he waited to see which one of them would break eye contact first. Dean's gaze shifted and the corners of Henriksen's mouth turned up.

"I don't believe that for a second. Not when I've got a stretch of Missouri road littered with bullets and two bikes registered to your crew leaking oil and gas onto blacktop from holes that match the bullet caliber. There's just no way that's a coincidence. Not when your president is rotting in a jail cell for selling guns. Not when you and your brother ought to be rotting in there with him. If your daddy's the mastermind here, you and Sam are Bonnie and Clyde and this crew is your band of merry fucking pranksters and I don't wanna have to deal with it anymore." 

"This ain't their club," Gordon pointed out with indignation filling his voice.

“And that metaphor doesn’t even make any sense,” Adam muttered. Dean had to hold back from laughing.

"Shut up,” Henriksen spit at Adam before turning to Gordon. “No?You can tell yourself whatever you like, Walker, but the Winchesters will let you burn in order to save each other. You got two other members in jail who prove that, taking the fall for John's sons because he couldn't do anymore. And now, they've convinced all of you that it's better to say you've got no clue where Singer is so they can remain blameless-"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Dean interrupted. "Are you gonna charge us with anything? Is there anything you can even do as an ATF agent here?" At Henriksen's silence, Dean went on. "Just because you get your rocks off trying to bust our club when you're stuck behind a desk doing nothing for people it doesn't mean you get to come stick your nose in our shit."

"Stand up."

"What?" 

"Get on your feet," Henriksen ordered. Dean glared but rose from his chair. "Arms and legs spread you know the drill."

"Are you fucking kidding me? What are you searching for?"

"Those were .22 and .45 bullets. You're a known criminal with ties to the bikes we found. As an agent with the ATF, I can search you for a gun."

Dean didn't protest, but tilted his head up in defiance. Henriksen didn’t bother with his bare arms, but skipped his torso to pat his legs. He took the small knife Dean had concealed in his boot and tossed it to Officer Mills after examining it. Dean glared. Henriksen continued, making sure to dig into the wound on Dean's thigh and he didn't bother to hide a smirk at Dean's pain. He finally patted at Dean's hip and yanked open the cut Dean was wearing when he felt the outline of the colt 1911 Dean had tucked in there. He dug into Dean’s pocket roughly and exposed the engraved gun.

“Now, Dean, you know-“

“I know that you can’t do a damn thing about the fact that I have a gun because I have a license for it and it’s registered and there’s never been a violent crime pinned to me. Eat shit, Henriksen,” Dean snarled viciously. 

Henriksen cocked his fist back and knocked Dean in the jaw, hard. Jody and Kathleen both gasped as it happened and Rufus was the only one of the Wayward Sons still fully seated. Jody started to speak as Dean straightened up and smiled with blood on his teeth. The smile fell and he spit blood onto the floor at Henriksen’s feet. 

“I’m not gonna assault an officer of the law,” Dean smirked. Henriksen’s arm tensed again and Dean’s nose twitched in an aborted flinch before Jody laid a hand on Henriksen’s arm.

“That’s enough, Agent Henriksen. You can’t haul off and punch the citizens of this town without reason. No matter what your history with them is. There wasn’t any reason for you to even come out here. We can talk about this at the station if you go down there. There’s more information there than there is here.” Her voice was placating but her face was hard, demanding that Henriksen leave. He stared at her unfazed. “Agent, this is still my case until you have hard proof it’s not. So you give Mr. Winchester his gun back and you meet us at the station.”

Henriksen shoved the gun into Jody’s hands rather than Dean’s and turned. 

“I will put you in jail just like I did your daddy and I will not lose one wink of sleep over it. You step out of line once in my jurisdiction and you won’t ever be a free man again.”

Dean’s tongue stopped behind his front teeth before he could say “fuck you” once more and he looked at Jody while Henriksen stalked out of the clubhouse slamming the door.

“Don’t you think just because I made him leave that I’m on your side at all,” she said, looking at each member of the club in turn. 

It was at that moment that someone’s cell phone decided to ring loudly and by playing The Staples Singers. Cas had the grace to look embarrassed as he tried to surreptitiously check the caller ID with everyone’s eyes on him.

“Go ahead and answer it while we’re all right here,” Kathleen told him. 

“Hello,” Cas answered. He waited barely a second before speaking again. “I can’t really talk right now.” He kept up the rushed pace of the conversation. “Yes, I’m fine. No, don’t come to the bar.” He paused for a much longer moment. “Are you alright?” 

“Officer Mills, shouldn’t you all be out looking for Bobby if it’s so urgent that you find him?” Sam asked in a quiet voice in an attempt to get attention off of Cas, who he was certain was talking to Meg on the phone. The risk of Jody hearing what Meg had to say, and that being something about the deal and subsequent fiasco that day, was too high. “Ash told you what happened with his bike…” he trailed off.

Jody sighed and turned to look at her partner. Kathleen cocked her head and shrugged. 

“Fine. I don’t believe that none of you have seen Bobby Singer today, but since you don’t feel like talking, we’ll have to look for him ourselves. But none of you had better skip town, or there won’t be a damn thing I can do to keep Henriksen from throwing all of you in jail. You’re connected to this somehow and I’ll be damned if I let you bring whatever that violence was into this town. I might send Officer Uriel to come see about you boys throughout the week. I expect you to keep yourself and this club in line while Bobby’s out of town, Dean.”

Dean nodded, hearing what she wasn’t saying. Jody nodded back and headed toward the door with Kathleen following. When the door slammed, someone let out a deep breath.

“How the fuck did Henriksen get here so fast?” Sam asked.

“No clue. Go get me some ice for my jaw, would you?” Dean responded. Sam automatically got up to do so and Dean looked at Cas. “Was that the other devil’s spawn?”

“If you mean Meg, yes, that was her. She said her sister told her we’d been attacked. I believe she is on her way here, despite my directions not to come.”

“Do you trust her?” Gordon cut to the chase before anyone could dance around the issue.

One of Cas’s hands drifted up to the tattoos around his other forearm and he glanced down before meeting Gordon’s eyes. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t think she set us up, though. And I believe I might be able to convince her to find out who did.”  
Whoever was going to respond was prevented from doing so. Sam returned, ice pack in hand and Ellen in tow. Her mouth puckered tight and her eyes shone fearful. Sam crossed the room and gave Dean the pack and sat down, just as Ellen stopped with her hands balled against her hips.

“What in the hell happened and where in the hell is Bobby?”

“Ellen,” Dean groaned in pain behind the ice pack.

“Don’t you lie to me, boy. I ain’t the cops and it’s Bobby.”

“He’s alright, Ellen,” Ash replied. Rufus and Ellen let out identical sighs of relief. Sam whipped his head to the side to stare in disbelief. “I mean, he’s hurt, but he ain’t dead. He will be alright. Doctor’s said he’d be alright.”

“What doctors?” she demanded.

“What about Garth?” Sam asked.

“The doctors at the hospital I took them to. Mercy General.” 

“Somebody better get to talking right now!”

“We got caught, Ellen,” Dean began. “Somehow the Knights knew where we were, shot at us, stole some of the money.”

“Bobby and Garth got shot,” Rufus added.

“But Bobby’s okay,” Ash reiterated. Ellen’s hand fluttered up near her mouth before she bit her thumb nail. “They said he’ll make it through this. They’d let me know if things changed.”

“And Garth?”

Ash hesitated, one of his hands reaching behind him to rub at his neck. “Garth is in worse shape. He got hit earlier, lost a lot of blood. Got hit in a worse spot. They don’t have any idea if he’s gonna make it.”

Sam let his head fall back against the wall, Dean winced but not from the pain in his jaw, and Gordon let his head drop forward. Adam picked at the bottom of his cut while Rufus mirrored Ellen’s nail biting and Cas closed his eyes, his lips moving in silent prayer. Dean glanced over and remained quiet. No one spoke for a moment. 

Dean brought the ice pack from his face with a sigh. “We’d better get over there, then. We’ll need to be there when Bobby wakes up and if Garth does. We can’t do shit about the money or the intel leak right now.”

“That’s not true,” Cas said. Dean looked over at him and his jaw twitched. Cas gave an apologetic look. “I meant, I think if I talk to Meg right now, I may be able to convince her to help us figure out how the Knights knew where we’d be.”

“And I’ll ask it again, do you trust her?” It was Rufus who said it that time. 

“I’ll answer again, I don’t really know,” Cas restated. “But I have seen her at her most vulnerable and we understand each other in important ways, so I think she might help.”

“Damn, Cas, must be some sex,” Dean tried to joke. It got a forced wry smile from Gordon, but that was it. “Go, convince her to be our spy, then. Just be careful, alright? She’s still Morgenstern’s daughter.” Cas nodded and stood up.

“I’m going with you to the hospital,” Ellen said when the other members of the club were standing up as well. “And don’t you argue with me, Dean. Jo and Pamela can keep that bar running while I’m gone. It’ll keep Ash from having to drive that van while it’s got bullets in it, anyway.”

With a noise of agreement, and a farewell of ride safe from Cas, they were out the door and on their way to the hospital. 

Cas was on his second club soda and lime at the bar when Meg showed up. Her eyes darted around the Roadhouse when she came through the door and relief flashed on her face before she schooled her face into more of a mask.

“What happened?” she asked without preamble as she sat down on the stool next to Cas. He turned his head and looked at her through partially narrowed eyes. 

“Castiel, what happened?”

“You really don’t know?”

“Not anything that wasn’t from Ruby. She said Dean barged into her house and pulled a gun on her because you got caught by some rival club.” 

Pamela came by and Meg waved her off not unkindly without ordering anything. She was turned to face Cas head on despite the fact that he wasn’t doing the same. She reached out a hand and laid it on Cas’s arm, right below his elbow. She didn’t say anything as he waved Pamela back over and told her to get him a whiskey, neat. Pamela faltered but nodded when Cas didn’t look away. Meg let her hand slip from his arm. 

“We were set up,” Cas told her once he’d taken a sip of the whiskey.

“How do you know?” 

“Because there’s no other explanation. They knew exactly where we were, Meg.”

“And you think I had something to do with it?”

“Did you?” Cas didn’t bother to pretend that he wasn’t going to ask.

“If I did do you really think I’d tell you?” Meg didn’t bother to pretend she wouldn’t lie. Cas didn’t respond, just looked at her through narrowed eyes once again. 

“What would I get out of helping set you up? I knew you before this deal was even in place. Maybe by a different name, but I knew you, Cas.”

“Yes, you knew me before, and you’re the one who sought me out. Made this relationship what it is now instead of what a sponsor- sponsee relationship is supposed to be. For all I know, even that was a set-up. If your father wanted us set up, you’d do it. Out of loyalty to him.”

“Cas‒”

“If that was your cause‒”

“Then I’d serve it. You find a cause and you serve it. I know what I said.” The last sentence was a hiss. Cas didn’t look apologetic. “My father isn’t my cause right now.”

“Am I to believe that I am?” The doubt in his voice ran thick.

“Awfully full of yourself, aren’t you?” Meg shot back. “No. My cause right now is keeping myself clean.”

“Then how can you remain loyal to your father?”

Meg took a deep breath before answering. “This isn’t the conversation we need to be having.”

“It really is. Someone in your father’s organization has done something to let two of our members get shot. But they’ve also allowed 20 grand to be stolen from your father. I need to know where you stand before we can continue in the relationship that we have.”

“You’re telling me that if I don’t give up my father, you’ll stop sleeping with me? You think that’s really going to work?”  
Cas sighed. He threw back the last of his alcohol and finally turned on his stool to look at Meg.

“I have no illusions as to what our sexual relationship means to you. I mean I can’t sponsor you if I don’t know that once your father has used our club you won’t go back to using with his business’ influence.”

“I’ve been clean for six months now; I’m not going to use again,” Meg protested. She moved her hand back up to his arm and traced her index finger back and forth on one of the black lines. “And I didn’t say it means nothing.”

“I didn’t say you did,” Cas allowed, glancing down at her fingers on him. When he looked back up she was wearing a smirk and cocked an eyebrow up. Cas’s mouth was quirked up at the corners before he could stop it and his eyes looked almost shy. One of her legs shifted and her foot came into contact with one of Cas’s legs and she ran the boot clad appendage around Cas’s ankle. “Now you’re trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?” she asked in light of the accusation. Cas took hold of her hand and stood up. He didn’t answer, just tugged for her to follow him and went through the door of the bar headed toward the clubhouse. Meg didn’t speak again until she heard the door of the apartment they’d walked into click shut. “Oh, this is classy. When’s the last time this place has been cleaned?”

“I cleaned it myself. It’s cleaner than that bathroom you dragged me into after our last NA meeting,” Cas pointed out while locking the door. Meg shrugged and stepped closer to him, sliding a hand inside his vest and tilting her face up to kiss him. She met his lips softly at first and deepened the kiss in seconds. Her nails scrabbled at his ribs and he brought a hand up to her shoulder. Her tongue had just flicked against his upper lip, urging him to open his mouth to let her in when his hand moved to the back of her head and tangled in her hair, using it to spin them around and crowd her against the wall. 

She gasped as his other hand found her hip, his fingers dipping to caress the skin under the waistband of her jeans. He swallowed her gasp. He ran his tongue across hers before moving back to nibble at her bottom lip. She pushed her hips into his and he pulled her back into an arch in attempt to get closer. She writhed against the wall when he surged forward to pin her again. Her hands worked their way down to his back and the muscles there were hard and shifting while he tried to maneuver enough space to work open the buttons on her denim. A relieved sound escaped her throat when he’d gotten the zipper down.  
She pushed him away from her and he stumbled, looking taken aback slightly. She smirked at him and yanked off her shirt and threw it and her jacket into a pile in the corner. She stepped forward and ripped the cut he was still wearing down his arms so that they were tangled and stuck close to his body. She pressed her breasts against him and looked up at him, laying open mouth kisses at his jaw.

“You’d still do this even if I was the one to set you up,” she breathed into his neck. He shifted his shoulders and the way she’d used the vest to bind him suddenly fell away. He grabbed either side of her face, forcing her to look at him.

“You didn’t. You like me too much to see me die,” he told her, voice full of certainty. Before she could respond, he captured her mouth in another searing kiss that had her groaning. He ran his hands down from her face to her neck and her breath caught in anticipation before he moved down her arms, settling at her wrists. She twisted her hands and caught his. He used the grip to put some space between them again. He let go of one hand and ran his up her stomach to her breast, fondling her through the silk of her bra. His mouth moved from hers to her neck and he licked a stripe up to her ear before breathing on the wetness lightly. She shivered and her hips rocked forward.

He detached himself from her to take off his shirt and while he did, she toed off her boots and let her jeans join them haphazardly on the floor. Cas ran his eyes from her slender ankles all the way up to her arched eyebrow and smiled slightly. He took his own jeans off and stood before her naked and hard. She let her eyes take him in just as appreciatively as he’d looked at her before stepping to him. His erection pressed into her stomach and when she rolled her body slightly she heard him grunt softly. She walked them backward until he was forced to sit on the bed or fall and she pushed his shoulders back. He didn’t take his eyes off of her as she climbed astride him and rocked so her silk-clad pussy glided over his cock. 

He reached up to push her bra down and expose her breasts. She leaned down over him, her hair falling around them as their lips met again and he rolled her nipples in his palms. She bucked against him again before working the undergarment that separated them off of herself. Reaching out knowingly, she found a condom in the drawer of the bedside table. She slunk down Cas’s body and ripped open the condom to slide it onto him with her mouth, tongue flicking against his dick the entire time, concentrating especially on the underside of the head. Cas groaned and squeezed at her shoulder. When she reached his mouth again, Cas kissed her back before sitting up, forcing her up onto her knees. He flipped them and she let out a sound of surprise as he continued to move them until she was on all fours and he was draped across her back. 

“Cas,” Meg breathed when one of his hands reached around for his fingers to find her clit, rubbing the pads of them against it before sliding down to find her cunt and spreading her lips apart. He pushed into her and she groaned. His fingers continued to rub in circles around her clit as he pumped his hips. His other hand reached for her shoulder and he pulled so that she was flush against him, their skin slick as they began to sweat. Cas turned Meg’s face so she had to strain but could kiss him. Their tongues tangled and their bodies kept grinding into each other and Meg was getting short of breath until Cas released her face and let his hand drop across her chest. He reached for a nipple again and Meg whined at the feel of his fingers on her in such sensitive spots and his breath ghosting across her neck. 

It seemed like no time at all passed before she could feel the heat ramping up and her pussy begin to flutter in contractions around Cas’s cock. He stilled and made his teasing smile obvious against her neck. Before she began to groan again he moved, fingers working quicker than they had before. An ecstatic shout tore from Meg’s throat as her orgasm hit her and Cas’s hand moved to cover her mouth to muffle it. Cas continued to rub at her clit and one orgasm slid into two. He bucked up half a dozen more times before he reached his own climax.

The two of them fell sideways, Cas spooned up against Meg’s back, and they steadied their breathing. Meg turned so she could look at Cas.

“You’re very lovely,” Cas started. Meg’s face softened a little. “But sex is a distraction for only so long.”

“It’s worked pretty well for me so far. A distraction from what?”

“I need your help. I can’t help you stay clean if I’m not alive. I need you to help us find out who set us up.”

Meg stared at him a moment and bit her lip. She turned away from him and, though she’d try to deny it, tucked herself further into his arms. She didn’t say anything, but she nodded. Cas kissed her shoulder, over and over until she was falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how gun laws work in Kansas (or any state in the US) and didn’t really do any research there; again, please just suspend disbelief as this is a work of fanfiction and they are complicated pieces of legal documentation


	11. No Quarter

“Dad,” Dean breathed into the phone. He’d been at the hospital for nearly forty-five minutes before he felt his phone going off in his pocket. It was then he realized he had about a dozen missed calls, all from the number that indicated someone at Leavenworth Penitentiary was trying to contact him.

“Why the hell haven’t you been picking up?” John spit. Dean winced

“There’s been a lot of shit going on; I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

“Maybe you should have picked up the phone or gotten on your damn bike to see me and tell me about all the shit going on. Before you got the club into this mess.” John was nearly shouting into the receiver. Dean was instantly glad he’d been forced to head outside to have this phone call. 

“I’m sorry we haven’t talked in a while,” Dean started. His brain processed what his father had just said and he stopped himself. “Wait, what mess do you think we’re in?”

“What the hell made you think to start working with Lucifer Morgenstern?”

Dean nearly dropped the phone and swallowed audibly. He barely had time to wonder how John had found out before he started speaking, trying to explain.  
“Dad‒”

“You’re being set up. Have you‒”

It was Dean’s turn to cut his father off and he did so with “I know. We don’t know how anyone got the information but the Knights of Hell ambushed us on our run today. I’m sorry, Dad. Bobby got shot, so did Garth. Bobby’s out of surgery, we’re just waiting for him to wake up. But, we don’t know if Garth is gonna make it.” Dean stopped himself from telling his father that he wished he were around to run the club so Dean didn’t have to in crisis mode. He went on. “We don’t know how‒”

“I know how it happened,” John said talking over his son. “It’s been a damn set-up since the beginning and one of you let yourself get had.” John’s voice showed no sign that he’d ever forgive whichever one of his sons had let this happen to the club and Dean could hear the assumption that it was one of his sons that had. Before he could take the blame for Sam, their father continued. “Azael was in here this afternoon and told me all about it. He’s the one that told Morgenstern to use you months ago. I don’t know how you got it in your heads to go looking‒”

“What?” Dean interrupted, stopping the circuit he was making back and forth across the sidewalk. 

“Azazel was in here and told me he lead Morgenstern to you. He didn’t say how Morgenstern‒”

“Dad, I gotta go.” At John’s sputters of protest, Dean repeated it more vehemently. He practically ran back upstairs to the waiting room. The rest of the club members all looked up from their conversations and their magazines. They’d all been fidgeting nervously, but stopped when Dean entered the room. Dean honed in on his brother. “It’s been a set-up the whole time.”

“What?” someone asked. All Dean knew was that it wasn’t Sam, as his mouth hadn’t moved. His eyes fell momentarily but when they met Dean’s again, there was a fire there.

“She played you this whole time. I swear to god, I’m gonna kill her, Sam.”

Sam’s mouth was a hard straight line and his hands clenched into fists against his thighs. “I’ll do it myself.”

***

It hadn't taken long for Sam to calm down; there'd been a few words from Ash that helped. Rufus had stared between the Winchester brothers and demanded an explanation. Sam had given him one, haltingly and without looking him in the eye. Rufus had shaken his head and gone into Bobby's room; perhaps to get away from the rest of the club, perhaps to lay his trouble on his old friend even though he wasn't awake. Ellen was off talking to the nurses about Garth’s condition. Dean still wanted Ruby's head on a platter, even after Rufus’s storming out, and Sam knew there was a very apt reference to Judith in the situation, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out; Cas would have been able to. It had been Adam to bring up Cas. 

"Do you think he got her to agree to find out who set us up?"

"It doesn't matter, we know who set us up. It had to be Ruby," Sam sighed. Without the fury he felt at Ruby, he was left with disappointment in himself; of all the things he'd learned so far, he should have remembered that when something seemed too good to be true that it probably was. 

"I don't need Meg to tell me her sister oughta be dead by week's end," Dean confirmed. Adam was shaking his head.

"I'm not saying we don't know that. Yeah, it was Ruby, but didn't you just go confront her?" He looked imploringly at his siblings. At Dean's nod he continued, "So what good would it do to do it again right away?"

"Oh, I'm done talking to her," Dean said.

"Wait, Adam's right," Sam started. "Go after Ruby again right away and she'll know, and we'll be dead."

"You gotta keep her thinking you still trust her," Ash nodded. Dean fumed with his arms across his chest.

"That's a better play, Dean," Sam explained. Dean didn't say anything, just shot his brother a look out of the corner of his eye. "It is."

"I know, Sammy," Dean huffed. He sat down again, but his leg continued to bounce. He spoiled for a fight, wanting to find the Knights of Hell again and put a bullet in every one of them if he could for landing them sitting in the hospital waiting to hear if their friends would be alright, would live or die. 

"Do you think Cas knows to get here?" Gordon asked. Dean nodded and Gordon tilted his head in 'alright' in return. They were all silent enough again to hear the revolution of the second hand on the clock. "Was it worth it?"

Sam snapped his head up to stare at Gordon. Dean was glaring at him too, a look of pure contempt on his face for a man he'd been best friends with for years. Sam couldn't muster up the energy to say anything other than "What do you think?" 

No one said anything for another forty-five minutes, and it was Cas’s arrival to goad anyone into speech.

“You stink like sex,” Dean told him. “Really?”

“Shut up, Winchester; like you’ve never had life affirming sex, probably with half the people in this room,” Meg retorted. Dean’s lip curled in shocked disgust. “I had to make sure he was alright, didn’t I?”

“And the best way to do that was play doctor?”

“I was actually a nurse before I turned into a junkie,” she pointed out. “What? I can’t have layers?”

“Has Bobby or Garth woken up?” Cas asked, stopping the other conversation in its tracks. Sam shook his head. Cas dropped his eyes and Sam saw Meg look at him with worry coloring her features. They wandered over to a pair of chairs and sat to join the vigil. No one knew how much time passed before Rufus was coming out of Bobby’s room. 

“He’s awake.”

“I’ll go get a nurse or someone,” Adam volunteered. 

“Find Ellen too,” Rufus told him. 

“We can’t all just descend on him,” Sam said. Rufus pointed at Dean and jerked his head.

When he entered the room with Rufus behind him, Dean could see that the older man hadn’t been mistaken. Bobby was still lying reclined against his pillows, but his eyes were open and he tried to muster up a small smile for Dean.

“Thought you were gonna sleep through all the excitement there, Bobby,” Dean joked.

“I wish I had slept through the excitement; probably wouldn’t have gotten shot,” Bobby said shakily. He curled one hand in and hit the painkiller drip they’d given him. Dean had reached out and taken Bobby’s other hand to squeeze.

“You’re lucky I could lift that damn bike off you. If you still had that old Road King like this one here,” he indicated Rufus with a head motion, “I probably wouldn’t have.”

Bobby had his mouth open to tell Dean off for talking smack when a doctor came into the room. 

“How’s he looking, doc?” Dean asked before anyone else could.

“Well, considering Mr. Singer here was shot in the back mere hours ago, I’d say he’s looking fairly well.” 

“How long before you think we can get him out of here?” Dean asked again. The doctor started shaking his head halfway through Dean’s question.

“Mr. Singer, you’re doing very well being awake already, and it’s a miracle that your spinal column wasn’t damaged to the point of absolute paralysis.” The doctor paused and it was marked by a palpable tension. “You’ll be confined to a wheelchair for a few months, at least.”

“At least?” Bobby croaked out.

The doctor nodded. “You’ll have to undergo fairly intensive physical therapy. There’s a possibility that you might not regain your ability to walk.”

The doctor went on to say more, but no one in the room was listening. In every one of their minds was the same black and white image: stipulation three of rule one of the Wayward Sons Motorcycle Club charter “any member who does not have or has not ridden a bike for six months or more will have his membership up for review to be revoked.” The club had never used it, but it was in place so that as the founding members aged, they would be unable to hold onto power indefinitely; it wouldn’t make any sense to have a club cabinet member who couldn’t hold a clutch because of arthritis. 

“Get out,” Bobby intoned at the doctor after it seemed he’d finally stopped speaking. The man sputtered and Bobby glared. The doctor put his hands up as if in surrender and nodded. Dean opened his mouth to speak once the door closed and Bobby turned on him as well. “You both too. Go find out what’s happening with Garth. And send a nurse in to give me some better pain meds. But not the black one; she’s giving me too much sass.”

“Mr. Singer, I’m not givin’ you any more sass than you deserve. Folks gettin’ shot and tryin’ to flirt with girls half their age before surgery need to get sassed.” It was too late for Dean or Rufus to keep the nurse from Bobby and Dean smirked. 

“Missouri, it ain’t like I asked to get shot‒”

“Those vests your friends are wearing don’t exactly say you weren’t askin’ to get shot, either,” she cut him off while eyeing Dean and Rufus. They took that as their cue to leave, both nodding at Bobby as they did. They could hear footsteps that sounded like Ellen’s quick pace and she barely looked at them as they passed each other. Dean and Rufus shared a glance and Rufus tugged at the stud in his ear. Dean hid a grimace at the tic. When they reached the waiting room, everyone looked up again, but Rufus didn’t allow for any discussion, looking between Meg and Cas and speaking.

“Is she gonna help us or not?”

All eyes were on Meg, most suspicious and cynical. She looked back defiantly. Cas laid his hand gently on her arm and she glanced his way, her features softening just enough for a spike of hope to shoot through Sam.

“Against my better judgment, yes, I’ll do what I can to help you figure out how today happened.”

“Why?” Dean asked, distrust heavy in his voice.

“It’s not enough that I don’t want to see him die?” Dean’s eyes moved between her and Cas just as Rufus’s did earlier. Dean shook his head and Meg sighed. “It’s about time I did something for myself instead of my father is all, alright?”

“What if this information compromises your father’s operation?”

“Let it be compromised. The man hasn’t done shit for me since I was 13 years old.”

“Keep your voice down,” Cas hissed at her. Her eyes flashed at him, but indicated she’d take heed.

“Three months ago you‒”

“Three months can be a long time,” she cut him off quietly. Dean made a face of begrudging agreement. She shifted so she was looking at Cas and asked “What is it you want me to do?”

***

Meg was standing in Ruby’s living room, looking at the same photograph that Sam had puzzled at weeks earlier. She’d made the dinner plans with her sister as soon as she could after the conversation she’d had with the motorcyclists in that waiting room. It was day five of their prospect being in a coma and it had been clear that no one had the patience to wait around‒ with every passing day everyone except Cas trusted Meg less and less and she bristled at the thought. 

“Remind me again why we can’t just go out to dinner?” Ruby called from the kitchen.

“Do you want to discuss Dad’s illegal business deals and your sister’s struggle to stay clean with a wait staff within earshot?” 

“Who said I want to discuss either of those here?”

“Thanks for your support,” Meg drawled. Ruby poked her head around the cabinet to throw a grin at her older sister. 

“I just think since you invited me, you should have to be the one to cook,” she shrugged. Meg rolled her eyes and Ruby moved to re-enter the kitchen fully again. She stopped herself though when she saw where Meg’s eyes were. “Something catch your eye?”

“What? I can’t get nostalgic?”

Ruby snorted and did return to the counter where she was slicing steak into strips. Meg took one last glance at the photograph and steeled herself for the turn the conversation was going to take before following her sister. Ruby glanced over at where Meg was leaning against the counter kitty-corner to her. “I just don’t understand why you’d get nostalgic over that. I mean, wasn’t that right before the first time you used?”

Meg nodded. “Means that was before I had to go to NA and still help my father deal the shit. I thought we were going to heaven that day.”

“Well, we sort of did, didn’t we? That deal’s been good for us. The Knights of Hell have moved a lot for us, so you were right. Dad and Azazel working together did sort of get us to heaven. Drug boss heaven. That deal probably paid for your car.”

“It also put track marks on my arms,” Meg pointed out. Ruby waved a hand in disregard.

“But you’re alright now, aren’t you? You’ve stayed clean.” 

“I’m still an addict.”

Ruby had nothing to say in response. She tossed the steak into the pan and fired up a burner. Meg bit her lip and glanced down, embarrassed at the chipping of her toenail polish. Her eyes flashed to her boots over in the foyer when she brought them back level to Ruby.

“Do you think this deal with the Winchesters will squeeze out the Knights?”

Ruby set down the wooden spoon in her hand and faced her sister. The look her face was screwed up in screamed that she thought Meg was an idiot for the question and Meg glared, the same way she had at Ruby when they’d been 16 and 14 and Ruby’d cozy up to their father with another persuasive essay with an A marked in red at the top.

“The whole point of this deal with the Winchesters is to bring the Wayward Sons and the Knights into a merger. They ‘stole’ that money,” Ruby said smirking at the air quotes she put around the word stole, “hoping they’d be forced into sitting down and dealing with each other.”

“What?” Ruby scoffed at her sister’s surprise and Meg went on. “If they’re supposed to deal, why put one of their members in a coma?”

“I think that might have been an accident. Or it could have been Alistair having his own plan. You know how he gets even better than I do,” Ruby explained.

“Ruby, why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Dad thought the fewer people who knew the better.” Ruby had turned back to the dinner she was making, busying herself in the fridge. 

“Probably because it’s a stupid fucking plan,” Meg muttered. Ruby let the fridge close and eyed the other woman. “It is. There’s no way Dean Winchester is going to sit down with Azazel now. He’s out for blood. And he’s de facto president with John in jail and Bobby Singer in a wheelchair. Which is also this stupid plan’s fault.”

“Yeah, well, blame that on Alistair, not on the plan,” the clunk of a jar onto the counter punctuated her sentence. “Plus, Sam’ll talk Dean down.”

“Their prospect is in a coma.”

“He’s only a prospect,” Ruby dismissed. 

“You’ve always been one cold bitch,” Meg laughed hollowly. “Do you care about the guy you’ve been sleeping with at all? Or would you slit his throat along with the rest if our father asked?”

“Fuck you, Meg.” Ruby’s words had some heat to them and Meg knew she’d struck a nerve. “When did you stop bending over backwards for the man?”

“About the time that he started pimping us out to anyone he wanted to make a deal with.”

“Oh, please, six months ago you would have cut the brakes on any of those guys’s bikes and not blinked if Dad wanted you to. Don’t put this on some childhood shit.” Ruby was still moving around the kitchen, preparing like they were going to be able to sit down and eat fajitas as though they weren’t thinking of scratching each other’s eyeballs out over their father and his philosophy on parenting. She finally took a moment to stop and drew a breath just to expel it, trying to calm herself down. “Look, insult me and hate the plan all you want, but things have been in motion for months now. The Wayward Sons aren’t getting out from under Lucian Morgenstern’s business.”

“I just don’t get why. Why does he need them?”

“Need them? Dad doesn’t need shit from this entire fucking state, let alone that fucking ghost town. But he wants them. Freedom might act scared of the Wayward Sons, but have you seen how they actually look at them around there? I thought that mom at that rally for the troops they held two weeks ago was actually going to drop to her knees and blow the entire club. It’s like they’re some fucking symbol for good even though they sell guns to gangbangers and street trash everywhere else.”

“So what? So they’re a motorcycle club in small town Midwest, USA,” Meg wondered. Ruby was getting plates down and didn’t bother to look at Meg when she answered. 

“So they’re begging to be corrupted. Dad wanted to prove that he could be the one to do it.”

“Ever notice that Dad can be a petulant child?” Meg demanded. The plates clattered on the counter and Ruby whirled on her sister. Whatever scathing remark she meant to aim was cut short by the unexpected buzz of Meg’s phone. “Save it, it’s Cas.”

“This conversation never happened,” Ruby threatened. Meg rolled her eyes at the dramatics, trying to school her face into a mask of ‘duh.’ Her features fell after fifteen seconds of being on the phone. 

“I’ll be there soon. I’ll tell Ruby, tell Sam he doesn’t have to bother calling. We’ll both be there.” She slid her phone back into her pocket and acknowledged Ruby’s questioning look. Her face was solemn as she told her flatly “That guy you said was only a prospect? He’s dead.”

***

The funeral home was full of men wearing leather. At the very front was a closed casket laid with it as well. Garth had survived nearly every member of his family‒ his parents had been gone since he was 17, the two aunts he’d had both passed away before he was 22, and there were no distant cousins to come mourn him; all he had had was his brothers in arms for the last year and they had shown up, baring patches from different chapters, but their rockers all read that they were wayward and had come home to pay respects. Each chapter’s president had come up to Bobby, who sat in a wheelchair at the end of the front row of seats. He nodded at Lee Chambers, who’d replaced him as President of the Sioux Falls chapter, when he gave his condolences, both for Garth and being laid up, and he treated the New Orleans and Manning presidents to the same.

“It ain’t right,” Bobby said out of the side of his mouth. 

“Course it ain’t; he was a kid,” Ellen responded, leaning down so she could speak the words softly to Bobby. She laid a hand on his shoulder and he shook his head. He shook it again to keep her from pulling away.

“Not what I mean. It ain’t right that I gotta play club president when we’re burying the only prospect I’ve ever vouched for.” Ellen leaned in and put a gentle kiss on his cheek at the crack in his voice. Jo saw and slipped her hand into her mother’s and squeezed.

There wasn’t anyone in the funeral home who didn’t remember other nearly identical funerals, even the men who had known Garth through construction jobs or factory work. The town hadn’t changed all that much in twenty years; the same people working the same places when they could keep the jobs and visiting the same bars when they couldn’t; most of the same people had been at Isaac’s wake and knew what it was to see a cut draped over a coffin. But Jo, as much as she mourned for Garth and the way he seemed to be happy just to be with people who cared about him, couldn’t help but have memories of knowing it was her daddy’s body underneath the leather and wood. She was too young to remember much other than the image of the coffin and the way her mother’s face had been a crumpled mess for weeks surrounding the event. But as she looked around, at Sam and Dean especially, she could vaguely recall the look John had worn, wracked with guilt and regret with his eyes unable to stay on Ellen for too long. Sam couldn’t seem to hold anyone’s gaze for longer than a second and Dean was avoiding Bobby’s. Jo wanted nothing more than to absolve them of whatever guilt it was that they felt. She caught a twitch in Dean’s hand as it patted at his pocket and saw him look at the clock. He avoided her eye when he slipped out of the line and headed toward the door. His lighter was in his hand.

“Don’t, Jo,” Sam whispered to her, catching her wrist. He was turned around facing the casket when she looked back to him. She nodded anyway. 

“We were supposed to be the first ones to go, old man,” Rufus said to Bobby. There were too many emotions in his straining voice for Jo to pick out individually, but her heart was breaking and she wished that she had the escape of going for a cigarette like Dean had decided he had once again.

Much like the night before their first run, the last time before they’d gotten themselves fully into this mess, being outside and away from what he saw as a crush of people wasn’t really helping Dean. He could hear his father’s voice in his head, yelling at him about the cigarette hanging out from between his lips and for having stepped outside and for letting Sam talk him into taking this deal to the club in the first place. He had enough time before the service started to finish the cigarette, but the nicotine wasn’t calming him, just ramping him up more and he ground it out half unsmoked under his boot and stood up. He saw a black SUV coming down the road but thought nothing of it as he pulled the door open and went back inside. 

It was when Meg walked in that Dean realized he’d only noticed the vehicle because he recognized it. Meg looked for Cas and didn’t even bother to give him a small smile when he nodded at her. She stepped forward to come toward them and as she did, she revealed that her sister was walking through the door. Dean growled in the back of his throat before he even thought about the fact that they’d discussed how they needed to act around Ruby. He was seeing red and didn’t give a damn about the plan they had. 

“Dean,” Sam hissed with his hand on his brother’s arm. 

“Let go of me, Sammy,” Dean started. He yanked his arm out of his brother’s grip, but Sam wasn’t letting up, getting a hand on Dean’s shoulder instead. “I know what we said about the plan, but I don’t care.”

“Make yourself care!” The entire conversation was going on in heated whispers.

“I don’t care if you’re fucking her, Sam, she doesn’t need to be here,” Dean said, loud enough that other people, people who weren’t privy to what was going on in their particular chapter, heard him. A few sets of eyes turned toward him in surprise. Sam gritted his teeth and his lips flattened into a straight line as he glared at his brother. He spared a glance toward the back of the room and met Ruby’s eyes. She paused when he did, a question on her face. Dean, too, turned his head to look at Ruby, but there was nothing but contempt between the two of them. “If she comes one foot closer to that casket, I swear to god, I will kill her right here.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Cas finally broke in. One of the funeral home directors, a pretty girl named Tessa whose father was the owner, was making her way to the pulpit next to the casket. Ruby was still standing in the back of the room and Sam gave an apologetic smile and tilted his head to tell her she could come forward so she’d be near her sister off to the side where they ostensibly were to comfort their significant others should they need it. Dean was shaking his head in anger and he couldn’t even hear what Tessa was saying for the rage he had building. She asked them to bow their heads in prayer, but there was no prayer in Dean’s mind as he ducked his head. He snuck a glance over at Ruby and Meg while Tessa was reciting Psalm 23, one even Dean was familiar with if only because of the number of funerals he had attended. They both had their heads bowed, but Ruby’s purse was open, light emanating softly from it. 

Dean was on the move without saying a word. Tessa’s voice didn’t waver even as Ruby cried out when Dean’s hand wrapped around her arm and yanked her behind him. Sam sputtered and turned to watch his brother drag the dark haired woman toward the door. The hand Dean had wrapped around her arm tightened to the point of bruising in response to Ruby’s quiet protestations of ‘let me go.’ Tessa’s eulogy broke off for a moment as the door slammed open and Dean pushed Ruby through it. He followed her and shoved the door closed; Tessa took it as her cue to begin again. Gordon’s hand on Sam’s arm kept him from storming after his brother. He turned back around with a grimace on his face just in time to miss the slap Ruby landed across Dean’s face.

“Listen, bitch,” Dean started, grabbing at her hand when she hauled off to hit him again. “You shouldn’t even be here‒”

“Fuck you,” Ruby yelled back at him. She moved to push her way back into the parlor, where a good portion of the attendants were craning their necks to see the commotion outside. Dean caught her shoulder and spun her into the side of the building, and she let out a grunt when the wind was knocked out of her. Her eyes glittered with hatred and she spat “Let go of me, you son of a bitch.”

“No, you listen,” Dean was shoved close to her, trapping her against the building. He had his gun out of his waistband and brought it to rest against her temple.

“SAM!” Ruby screamed. Dean knocked the gun against her temple, just hard enough for her to cry out briefly.

“I shoulda killed you as soon as I knew.” Dean could hear his brother’s footsteps quickening. “I know you set us up.”

“Sam!” she yelled again. She turned to Dean with a glint in her eyes. 

“He’s not gonna defend you this time. You brought him this idea and‒”

“Of course he’ll defend me. It’s what I’ve been counting on since I put this plan in motion,” Ruby hissed through her teeth, the white of them showing through her wide lipped smirk. Before Dean could reel back, or pull his arm back to knock her upside the head at the confession, he was interrupted. 

“Dean, what the fuck are you doing?” Sam demanded as he reached his brother. He pulled him off Ruby and Dean stumbled. 

“I can’t do it, Sammy. I can’t have her here when she’s the reason all of this happened. I can’t let her disrespect Garth’s memory. Can’t have her disrespect our club.”

“What the hell do you think what you’re doing is?” 

“Sam, tell him he needs to get over this. He can’t keep thinking I set you up,” Ruby pleaded, still stuck up against the wall of the funeral home, too unsure of what Dean would do to move. The glint in her eye had fallen away, replaced by oily desperation. 

“What I’m doing is for this club,” Dean told his brother, voice rising. “I’m not gonna sit there and listen to some woman who didn’t even know him talk about Garth like he died of a hazard to the job!”

“What the hell else would you call it?” Ruby said quietly. Dean whirled on her, leveling the gun at her forehead. 

“Dean!” Sam cried. 

“You might as well have pulled the fucking trigger,” Dean growled at her. 

“You’re outside of your fucking mind,” she shot back at him. “Are you really gonna shoot me in front of all these people? In front of your brother?”

“I might.”

“Dean, come on,” Sam said again, and took hold of his brother’s shoulder. Dean spared him a glance that was more like a glare and Sam’s hand became more insistent, trying to tug Dean to turn back around and look at him. “If you need to fight because you’re grieving, take a swing at me, but you can’t shoot Ruby,” Sam tried to sound patient, but his annoyance leaked into his voice. 

“You know this is so not about that,” Dean told Sam with a dangerous twist of his lips. Sam recognized the look that was on his brother’s face and he couldn’t decide between bracing himself for the impact of a fist against his jaw or trying to say something to calm his brother down and keep him from completely blowing the plan they’d talked about even worse. 

“What’s it about then? She’s already told you she didn’t set us up,” Sam pretended to plead. He shook his head slightly at his brother. Dean’s lips thinned to a white line of fury and Sam’s look of pleading turned into one of anger, one that willed his brother to stop being so damn stupid. Dean wasn’t listening to Sam’s silent signals, and he threw out his fist in a jab at Sam’s chin. It was half-assed and Sam wondered why the hell he even bothered as he stepped back to avoid the hit and Dean stumbled with his momentum. He swung again and Sam caught his fist, using it to push Dean back away from him again. 

“You’re gonna defend her? Still?” Sam glared at his brother in response. It didn’t deter Dean one bit. “Fuck the‒”

“What the hell are you two doing?” Cas, having come to see if he couldn’t convince them to stow their crap and come back inside, asked, voice deadly flat. “If you didn’t notice, there’s a funeral going on that you ought to be attending.”

“I won’t have this evil bitch in there, on her god damn phone, just so we can play nice a while longer before I can put a bullet in her,” Dean responded with a jab of his finger at Ruby. 

“I’ve told you three times now that I didn’t‒”

But Cas cut Ruby off as well. “We do not have time,” Cas turned to Sam and Dean both with a look of wearing patience on his face. Whether they didn’t have time for the theatrics, or to take care of the situation, Dean couldn’t tell; it seemed like they had plenty of time to his mind. “Please just come back inside.”

“Why is anyone going to allow this bitch in there? She’s the reason Garth’s dead!” Dean knew he sounded like a broken record, but he was willing to repeat himself again if someone would listen to him. He’d let Sam talk him into this plan, and look where they had gotten them. 

“It’s not my fault you couldn’t handle a drug run and your prospect got himself killed!” Ruby yelled back. Dean had his gun pointed at her again with his finger ready on the trigger but Cas was stalking towards her. He had a hand on her throat, his fingers digging into the delicate flesh of her neck enough that she’d probably bruise and she was gasping.

“I am not here for your benefit, but for the benefit of my friend, Garth,” his voice was low and full of hazard. “I will not allow Sam and Dean to disrespect him by being absent from his memorial to throw a tantrum like children, and I certainly will not allow you to do anything to make this day harder.” Cas hadn’t let up against Ruby’s throat and her hands were scrabbling at his. “Do I make myself clear?”

She nodded frantically and he let go, allowing her to swallow for lungfuls of air. He straightened up from where he’d hunched over to speak softly to her. 

“Good, now please, all of us, let us return inside.”

Dean made to open his mouth again and with a sharp turn of his head, Cas kept him from doing so. Cas nodded slightly, and moved to the door, pulling it open and allowing Sam to pass through it before him. Ruby was straightening the black sheath she wore and with one last venomous look at Dean, she swept through the doors as well. Cas cocked an eyebrow at Dean, who hadn’t moved. He waved a hand.

“I can’t, Cas. I can’t do this, man.”

“You have to, Dean, You’re a pallbearer.” Cas’s voice was gentle. It was times like these where Dean wished he had the faith in some higher power Cas did; he seemed to handle funerals more gracefully than Dean could ever imagine himself doing.

“I know. Give me a minute to smoke, calm down.”

“Would you like me to stay with you?” Only Cas would ask, no one else willing to weather the storm that Dean knew he was at the moment. He shook his head in a negative, but immediately opened his mouth anyway.

“She admitted it.”

Cas just turned his blue eyes to his friend, sadness evident, for things deeper than Garth, deeper than what this had done to Sam, done to the club. “We knew that already. Meg told us.”

“Yeah, but she’s not hiding it completely anymore. She wants me to know she’s trying to tear us apart.”

After a moment of silence, where they both could hear that Tessa was asking for members of congregated townspeople to come forth and share stories of Garth that they’d like to, Cas spoke again, gentle like before, but with a trace of adamancy. “Smoke your cigarette and then come talk about Garth.”

Dean nodded, pulling a Marlboro from the pack he’d bought the day they’d learned Garth had died, and lit up. He could hear the rumble of a voice through the glass doors, but he couldn’t tell who it was. He mentally ran through every story he had of Garth, thinking of the man saying “I look good in uniform” when he’d shown up for a meeting in his rent-a-cop security guard outfit, and trying to talk Dean out of a fight he’d picked with Sam over something stupid. He felt the tears on his face before he realized he’d started crying and wiped them off with the hand not holding the cigarette. One more tear leaked out and he let it fall.

He flicked the finished cigarette butt away and was looking inside, seeing that Cas was standing up where Tessa had been, when the car pulled up. He heard it and turned just in time to see Agent Henriksen step out of the car, without his usual smug smile at meeting Dean.

“You better be here to pay respects, or I swear to god,” Dean told him. The other man just shook his head. He looked a little sad, but it didn’t stop him from saying what he’d come there to say. 

“Dean Winchester, you’re under arrest.”


	12. Time Has Come Today

“What are we supposed to do now?” Adam was the first one braving that question as the last person who wasn’t a local club member trickled out of the Roadhouse after Garth’s funeral. It had been the first time he’d felt the weight of a coffin on his shoulder and it emboldened him; he’d spread his mother’s ashes in the park nearest their home foregoing an urn in favor of thinking that his mom would spring up in the violets that grew wild. But the weight of that coffin containing Garth had grounded him. For the first time since he’d come to Freedom, the first time since he’d heard his mom’s diagnoses really, he thought he might have the chance to take a situation that called for a reaction and turn it into an opportunity to do; unfortunately, he didn’t have a clue what that action should be. 

Rufus spared a pitying glance at the youngest man and slouched toward the bar, eyeing the bottle of Johnnie Walker sitting there. Ellen had pulled out half a dozen bottles of whiskey for the gathering after Garth’s service, but with the rides ahead of them, other chapters had stuck to beer. The president of each of them had offered‒multiple times‒ to stay and help with whatever was going on, especially with John in jail and Bobby in that chair and Dean having disappeared wherever he’d run off to in the middle of the funeral, but Bobby had told every one of them not to. Assured them that Freedom could handle herself and it’d be better not to drag Sioux Falls and Manning and New Orleans into battles that weren’t theirs just to take them away from their own business. Lee Chambers, and Daniel Elkins, and Travis Watson all hesitated but they succumbed to Bobby’s insistence and they shared condolences, drank a beer with the founding chapter and their men, and headed home to calls of “ride safe.”

So now they were the only ones left who could say they’d been brothers with the departed. Ellen and Jo and Pamela remained, the latter two making sure they kept their hands occupied. Pamela kept running to the back to refill peanut bowls that were overflowing, and checking their pretzel supply; Jo had already dropped two glasses and spent time alternating between sweeping up the same spot and trying not to get caught staring at the door.  
Meg and Ruby had both stood by their men, without actually standing by them. They’d given the club members space, but they cautiously moved back toward the group. Sam jumped when Ruby reached a hand out for his arm. She gasped like he’d stung her and didn’t try again. Meg had her hands slung in her pockets near Cas, leaning toward him slightly, without touching.

“Where the hell did Dean go?” Gordon asked, his eyes flicking over to Sam, and more deliberately settling on Ruby. Sam shook his head with a frown. “He’s done some shit‒”

“He was messed up today,” Sam cut him off. He mapped the conversation out in his head and didn’t possess the energy to defend his brother, not when his conscious was shouting an echo of Gordon’s thoughts at him. Sam saw Ruby roll her eyes as if in agreement and it sparked something. “But we have things we need to take care of, whether or not Dean shows up from wherever he ran off to.” 

Ash’s head perked up from where he’d been staring into the bottom of his whiskey glass. Gordon looked impressed and Sam stopped himself from snapping at the man, refusing to give into feeling like he would perpetually be seventeen in his eyes. Cas held a question in his eyes and the blue of them was piercing. Sam didn’t back down from the question, responding to it by taking hold of Ruby’s wrist. She tried to twist the grip around so that they would be holding hands, but Sam’s fingers tightened, enough that she cried out.

He used the grip he had to spin her around and slam her back against a table. The edge dug into her back and she winced in pain and confusion. He had a knife at her throat before she could blink. Nearly everyone jumped, and Sam wasn’t sure if he’d knocked something off the table or if Jo had dropped another glass in shock, but it didn’t matter.

“Why’d you bring me this deal, Ruby?” he growled.

“To help your club‒ what the fuck are you doing?”

“We know it’s been a set up from the start,” he started. “So why?”

“I didn’t—“ 

“Stop. Lying.” Ruby struggled against the hold he had on her. She looked at Meg and the older woman stared back without sympathy; Ruby’s face fell in betrayal.  
When she looked back at Sam, the panic settled under a veneer of arrogance.

“Fine,” she said, flatly. “It’s been a set-up from the start. The only reason I even walked into this shit-hole of a bar was to figure out which of you I could get to listen.”

“Hey!” Ellen said indignantly from behind the bar. She’d sent Jo and Pamela into the back or the kitchen, but she’d gotten used to the idea of these men as violent enough to watch whatever happened in her bar. 

The knife Sam had at her throat dug in farther, a thin, small line of blood appearing. He instinctively loosened his hold there at the sight. 

“Why? So the Knights could kill us off?” Gordon cut in, following Sam’s line of questioning.

“No, if my father wanted you dead, you would all be dead.”

“It was supposed to get us to sit down with the Knights, wasn’t it? So Morgenstern could have the town?” Sam asked thinking of what Meg had told them before. 

“Why does he even want this town?” Ruby didn’t answer and he pressed her harder into the table. The knife went deeper again, widening the cut it had started and Ruby whined. She kicked out her leg and Sam blocked it.

“Sam,” Meg warned.

“Fuck you,” Ruby called at her sister. She strained up so she could look at Meg as she said it and it forced Sam to back off slightly. “Fuck you for turning on your own sister for some guy you’re sleeping with. Betraying your own family.”

“Oh, sis, don’t you dare,” Meg said, mocking sweetness with danger in her voice. “You should have been able to see I was drowning. You should have known how hard it was for me to keep clean when I had to keep being Dad’s quality control girl.”

“Oh why don’t you whine about it some more? You’re the one who used it in the first place!”

“Wow, we don’t care,” Gordon said, cutting off whatever reply Meg would have had. She glared at him and he shrugged before turning back to face Ruby. Ruby  
had turned from her sister back to Sam.

“You got Garth killed,” Sam choked out. “You put Bobby in that chair.” Sam’s eyes slid to Bobby and he gave no indication that he should have sympathy for Ruby.  


Ruby’s eyes never left Sam’s face, but it softened.

“I never meant for that to happen. I didn’t want you to get hurt, for anyone to get hurt,” she tried to explain. At the scoffs she heard from other members, her face turned desperate and she looked around. “I didn’t. I even made sure every one of you was armed.”

“What?” Cas asked. He’d watched the proceedings dispassionately, hoping not to have to be the one to remind his fellow club members they couldn’t slit Ruby’s throat in the middle of Ellen’s bar. 

“On your first run‒”

“You sent that fake cop after me?” Adam chimed in, realization hitting him. Ruby turned to him and nodded.

“Not a fake one, just one on the payroll. Knew where you were headed so we told him to take the patrol. Heard you reacted like a champ,” she tried to smile. Adam just stared back at her.

“You couldn’t have just given him a gun?” Ash asked.

“I’m the daughter of a drug boss,” she retorted. No one bought that as a reason except Meg, who knew her sister too well. “I wasn’t lying when I said everything I’ve done has been to try to benefit you and your club. A partnership with the Knights of Hell will do you a hell of a lot more good than being their enemy has ever done. Working for my father is a lucrative business.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Gordon muttered. Bobby caught his eye in agreement. 

“It’s been lucrative for you so far, hasn’t it?” She demanded.

“It cost me my damn legs,” Bobby huffed out. 

“Not to mention our prospect’s life,” Rufus added from where he was turned around leaning against the bar. He’d sipped his whiskey calmly the entire time.

“I know it feels like I betrayed you,” Ruby started to say to Sam but Gordon cut her off by taking Sam’s side for what was possibly the first time.

“That’s a side effect of betrayal.”

“But please, please see that I just want what’s going to benefit the most people here.”

“You did what would benefit yourself,” Gordon said again. No one rushed to disagree with him. Sam couldn’t speak. They could blame Ruby all they wanted, he thought, but ultimately he’d let her talk him into bringing this to the club. He wanted to hate her, felt his hands itching to close around her neck, but he’d spent months with her. He knew what she looked like in post coital glow and what her arms felt like wrapped around him on his bike; he’d heard her opinion on everything from where the best French fries in the country could be found to the politics of drug cartels. They’d laughed over stupid television and he’d seen her drink every kind of alcohol she could find and shoot clay pigeons out of the air with lines of concentration on her face. He’d started to fall in love with her and it was nigh impossible to stop that in its tracks, try as he wanted to. He wanted to believe that she’d had the best intentions. 

“So maybe I did,” she admitted. “Are you gonna kill me for it?”

“We ought to,” Gordon said again. Meg looked sharply at him.

“Please,” Ruby begged. “Let me fix it.”

“How?” Sam asked.

“I can come up with something‒”

“No,” Bobby said. Every head swiveled at him. “I don’t mean we’re gonna kill her, idjits. The blood’ll stain Ellen’s tables too damn badly.” Ruby, Meg, and Sam all breathed a sigh of relief, the latter doing so unconsciously. “But you ain’t coming up with a plan to get us out of this mess. You wanna live?”

Ruby’s chin bounced off her chest she nodded so hard since Sam was still holding her against the table. She was straining up so she could look at Bobby.

“Then when we figure out what the hell we’re gonna do about this situation, you do whatever we say to and you shut up about it.” Bobby nodded at Sam and he let Ruby up, not looking her in the eye as she rubbed at her neck, checking her fingers to see if she were still bleeding. She took a napkin and pressed it to the shallow wound. “In the meantime, hand over your phone,” Bobby went on.

At her puzzled look, Ash explained. “We’re not letting you out of here without being able to tap your lines.”

“Both phones,” Sam told her when she handed over the phone he knew was a company cell. She looked at him with hurt in her eyes and he didn’t change expressions. Bobby nodded when she handed over the other phone in her purse.

“Good. Now we’ve got that settled, how the hell are we going to find Dean?”

***

Dean sat, splayed in the metal chair with an arrogant tilt to his chin, in an interrogation room with Victor Henriksen looking in at him through the one way window. Sheriff Mills had already been by to tell Victor that there was no way anything he’d try to charge Dean with would stick. She’d also pointed out that it was illegal not to allow Dean to call his lawyer, but the ATF agent had ignored both of those warnings. He’d let Dean sit in the interrogation room without entering it for nearly an hour, but Officer Hudak had brought him a cup of coffee that had earned her a cheeky “thank you, sweetheart,” that she’d glared at. Dean didn’t even look bored yet, as though he knew Victor was behind the glass waiting for him to crack. 

“You know,” he finally said out loud to a room of nothing. Victor knew that Dean knew this drill too well, that he’d been dumb to try this tactic. Dean was continuing on, a slight edge to his voice that could have scared a man that wasn’t Victor Henriksen. “You arrested me at a funeral for a friend. The least you could do is come ask whatever you wanna ask and then let me go. I know the law, Henriksen, enough to know you still don’t have shit on me.”

He let Dean sit for a few minutes more and finally the other man’s face started to morph from arrogant to annoyed. Victor smiled to himself and went to enter the interrogation room.

“Finally,” Dean breathed.

“Why’d we find bullets that match your gun on that stretch of highway, Dean?”

“Oh thank god, you’ve had enough foreplay. You didn’t find bullets that match my gun, you found bullets that match every .9 millimeter.”

“Which happens to be your gun. We have reason to believe you were there.”

“You have no reason to believe I was there. You found a bike that was stolen from a friend‒”

“We found Singer’s bike too, and he just so happens to have been put in a wheelchair, no?” Dean didn’t say anything to that so Victor went on. “Didn’t think I knew that? I know everything, Dean.”

“You don’t know shit,” Dean intoned.

“Why were you there?”

“I told you that you don’t know shit,” he smirked this time. 

“So enlighten me.”

“Why in the hell would I do that?”

Victor considered Dean for a moment. He’d dealt with the man enough when John Winchester had been arrested and he understood him on some level. He’d recognized the anger Dean had thrown at him during the ordeal and the set to his jaw every time he dealt with the law; he knew the town and he’d seen Dean’s rap sheet and the tattoos and he knew what the club meant because of all of that.

“Because whatever happened got your friend killed.” Victor gave Dean a minute to let that sink in and when the light haired man’s jaw started ticking, he went on. 

“I know you hate me partly because you hate me, but mostly because you hate cops, but why not see if we can’t help.”

“If I wanted help, why wouldn’t I ask Jody or Kathleen? What can you do for me that they can’t?”

“They can’t keep you from being thrown in prison for manslaughter.”

“What?” Dean demanded. The arrogance drained from his face completely at that.

“There’s no way to prove it wasn’t your bullet that hit your friend‒” Dean sputtered in disbelief‒ “unless you give me something to prove that. Bullets ricochet, especially in a crazy situation, Dean. A .9mm bullet was in Garth Fitzgerald IV’s body and your gun, the one registered in your name, fires those bullets. It very well could have fired the one that killed him.”

“No jury in the world wouldn’t have reasonable doubt,” Dean protested.

“I could make sure they found a jury that hated you and your club so much it wouldn’t matter,” Henriksen shot right back, face as sincere as it ever was. Dean gritted his teeth and then looked down at his hands, contemplating the ink across his knuckles from what it looked like to Victor. It drew Victor’s eyes to the other visible ink on Dean, the stark “Prayin’ won’t do you no good” on his right forearm and when Dean shifted, stretching the arm back to scratch the nape of his neck, the tip of what appeared to be a sword.

“What’s that tattoo?” Victor flicked his gaze at his right triceps. Dean scrunched his face in incredulity. He didn’t bother to ask, just let the expression he wore do it for him. “Humor me.”

“Sword of Michael,” he answered shortly, ignoring Victor’s tone. “Why are you playing good cop and bad cop at the same time?”

“Whether you want to be or not, you’re the leader of your club right now,” Victor told him, ignoring both of his questions. “You’re supposed to protect that club. How are you going to do that if you’re in prison? Can’t be a sergeant behind bars.”

“I know that,” Dean snapped. 

“So give me something to keep you out of prison.”

The ticking of the clock filled the silence of the room. Dean was looking down again and Victor felt uneasy about the whole encounter. He expected the other man to look up and tell him to fuck off, tell him he couldn’t make a damn thing stick, and get up and leave. When Dean finally looked up, Victor had to try to keep himself from holding his breath. 

“Call my lawyer.” Dean said. Victor sighed. “Call my lawyer so I can make a deal with you that might give us both a win.”

Victor raised an eyebrow, but Dean shook his head. He nodded and stood up, walking to the door and calling to a secretary to get Dean Winchester’s lawyer there, as soon as possible. He sat back down and Dean leaned in conspiratorially. 

“I can get you a way bigger fish than my club: Lucian Morgenstern.”

***

“Sam,” Ruby said as she approached him. The Sons had thought about calling around to find Dean and Sam had told them not to bother; his brother would show up when he wanted to show up and that was all there was to it. Instead, Cas, Bobby, and Gordon were sitting with Meg at a booth going over what information she knew about her father’s relationship with the Knights of Hell. Ruby had been there to add things when she could, but she begged off saying that Meg knew more about it than she did; Gordon had looked at her askance but she’d blown him off while Meg defended the truth of what her sister said. 

“What?” Sam asked. His eyes hardened as he looked up from the table Ellen had asked him to clean off; she’d known him too long not to have given him a job after a confrontation like they’d just had. 

“Don’t be like that.” Sam didn’t even bother to respond, just went back to wiping the table down and moving to the next one. “I never lied to you.”

“Well you omitted a pretty big part of the truth then,” Sam snapped. Ruby crowded into his space, forcing him to look at her.

“It doesn’t change anything about us‒”

“Fuck you. It changes everything,” Sam said. He threw the rag he was using down. 

“I’m in lo‒”

“Don’t. Just fucking don’t.” 

“Fine. It won’t change it.” She shrugged and her gaze was icy. Sam’s shoulders stayed stiff as she started to walk away. Then Sam spoke.

“You know if you betray us, if you give us bad intel or you lie to me again,” he made sure to meet Ruby’s eyes. “I’ll kill you.”

“I won’t,” Ruby enthused. “Please believe me.”

“No. Help us and maybe I will.” Sam headed toward the bar as Ruby went back to where her sister was still being grilled.

Meg was detailing exactly where the Knights of Hell made their usual runs and how they and her father wanted the Wayward Sons to fit in when the door to the bar opened.

“Where the hell have you been?” Ellen was the one to demand of Dean as he strode through. 

“I can’t believe you left Garth’s‒”

“Whoa,” Dean cut Sam off. “You think I’d just leave a funeral? Give me some credit, Sammy, damn.”

“Where were you?” Cas asked a little more kindly. 

“Henriksen came by after you two went back inside,” Dean explained with a nod at Cas and Sam. “Said I was under arrest.”

“For what?” Bobby asked incredulously.

“For jack shit, he just said it to get me to come with him. Told me he could get me charged with manslaughter since bullets from a nine were found at the scene.”

“Dean, then why are you here? Why’d he let you go?” Sam asked after a moment where the club stood in stunned silence. Dean didn’t answer right away, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “What’d you have to give up?”

“Do we have a plan for how we’re dealing with Morgenstern?” Dean asked instead.

“We’re working on it,” Bobby answered. 

“Well, we need to work fast.” At the confused, expectant looks most of the club was giving him. “Henriksen will speed up our president’s parole if we can get him Lucian Morgenstern, but we’ve got to do it soon.”

“What?” 

“He can move Dad’s parole up so he’d be eligible to get out in six months; he was the arresting officer, he can do that, he says.”

“Since when?”

“I don’t know, Sam,” Dean barked out. “I thought I might as well give it a shot, because I wasn’t gonna take the chance that that asshole was really gonna charge me with something.”

“Henriksen will string us along for all we’re worth,” Gordon pointed out.

“I know, but what fucking difference does it make?” Dean demanded. No one said anything in response. “It’s not like we were ever gonna get close enough to Morgenstern to kill him‒”

“Whoa,” Ruby interjected. Dean ignored her and plowed on.

“Our best plan, a plan that might get Morgenstern and the Knights of Hell back for this, is to let their asses rot. Get Henriksen off our backs for a minute, at least, and if he can get Dad out of jail faster, then good. If not, fine, fuck it, but we won’t be running drugs for a son of a bitch anymore either way.”

“Yeah, if it works out like that,” Sam pointed out. 

“If it doesn’t, we’re dead either way. For your information, I was actually thinking about the club when I was sitting in that damn room handcuffed to a table. I’m not stupid. Unless you were thinking we’d actually join up with the Knights?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. It’s your‒”

“Knock it off, you two,” Bobby interrupted. “Ain’t no use having the argument you’re about to have.”

Dean acquiesced and shut his mouth and so did Sam. The tension in the room was palpable and choking.

“So how do we get Morgenstern to Henriksen?” Cas asked to break it. Dean had walked over to lean against the bar and Ellen brought him a whiskey. He downed it in one go.

“Who fucking knows,” he responded. The club looked around at each other, searching the others’s faces for answers they themselves didn’t have and found them wanting. Bobby rubbed at his beard and Sam ran a hand through his hair. Adam was chewing his lip. Meg cleared her throat and everyone looked up at her. Gordon rolled his eyes at her and she threw him a nasty look briefly before addressing the other men.

“If you’re done being melodramatic, I might have an idea. You feel like sitting on your hands or do you want to listen?”

***

Meg had felt a lot more confident in this plan when she was explaining it. Now while she was walking into the diner where she was supposed to meet Azazel, she felt her palms itching. She’d nearly had a panic attack about it earlier, but Cas had calmed her down, reassured her that nothing Azazel could say or do would make her pick up a needle again; if she wanted to stay clean, she could. But now, when she sat down at the booth and looked out the window for his golden bike to pull up, she remembered that Cas didn’t know, didn’t understand the tangled relationship she had with her adoptive father and Azazel and heroin. 

“Hello, dear,” Meg heard behind her. She startled and Azazel smirked. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Was coming up from Lawrence, took the back way.”

Meg nodded a little in understanding while he slid into the booth across from him. The smirk hadn’t left his face. She tried to school her face back into the mask she knew she needed: calm and confident and like nothing had changed.

“I heard my boys killed one of John Winchester’s.”

“Only a prospect,” Meg shrugged. 

“Still, that puts a wrinkle in our arrangement, doesn’t it?” Meg lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. She ordered a cup of coffee when the waitress came by. “And Singer’s in a wheelchair.”

“Makes Dean president practically.”

“A pity it’s not Sammy,” he pointed out. Meg shrugged once again, trying not to indicate Azazel was wrong, but not telling him he was right either. She stirred a packet of sugar into her coffee once the waitress set it on the table and waited to see when Azazel would go on. “Quit playing coy, Meg. You said they sent you.”

“They want to sit down. They need to talk about the money you stole.”

“And what do they think they’ll get us to do about the money? They’re not so stupid as to think we’ll give it back?”

Meg shook her head with a twisted up look on her face that told Azazel not even the dumbest member of the Wayward Sons would think that. “They want to earn it back from you.” 

Azazel cocked an eyebrow up. “How do they expect to do that?” Meg shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. With a thoughtful stroke of his chin, Azazel nixed the idea he hadn’t even heard fully yet. “We’ll sit down only if they do this the way we wanted it to go.” Brown eyes rose to meet yellow, egging the man to go on. He pointed a finger at Meg. “You tell them we sit down at our location with us and your father‒”

“Who said my father will go for that?” Meg cut him off with her own cocked eyebrow. Azazel narrowed his eyes slightly and gave her a dangerous smile. 

“Well isn’t that why we’ve got you around?” He reached out with the hand that had pointed to her and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear; to anyone else the gesture would have looked sweet, but Meg knew what it meant. She cast her eyes back down, but not quick enough to avoid seeing that smile widen.

“I’ll talk to him,” she said quietly.

“Good. Tell your father to bring them the product. He needs to plan‒”

“My father doesn’t play by your plan,” Meg said again, her tone much more hesitant than before. 

“I’ve worked around the Wayward Sons much longer than he has. You need to show a strong hand right up front. Remind them who’s keeping them from extinction.”

“He knows how to run‒”

“I never said he didn’t,” Azazel pointed out. “Don’t mistake my advice for a coup. The relationship we’ve had has been profitable.” The last word dripped off his lips oily and Meg wanted to shiver. She knew every meaning of the entendre. Azazel stood up from the booth after a moment of Meg not responding. Their business was done because he said it was. “When you tell them the terms, tell them we want this to happen within the next two weeks. I don’t like waiting.”

Meg’s hair bounced, the hank of it that Azazel had put behind her ear coming untucked, as she nodded in understanding. As he passed her, she saw his hand hover near her opened purse and drop something into it. She looked up and he winked at her before sauntering out the door.

“You want a refill, hun?” The waitress asked, walking up to check on her customer. Meg shook her head absently. “Anything else I can get you?” Again, Meg told her no and picked up her purse. “Alright. Hardly seems worth the trouble to write you up a ticket for 79 cents.”

“Don’t bother,” Meg said. She closed a hand around the first bill that she found in her purse and laid it on the table. She was sliding out of the booth and opening the door before the waitress could tell her she’d put a 10 down and it was too much. Meg was trying to control her breathing and steady her hands by putting them on the steering wheel of her Cadillac. She didn’t need to glance over to see the little baggie of white powder mocking her from her purse. After a few steadying breaths she started her car and pulled onto the road. She rooted around in her purse until her phone was in her hand and she dialed. 

“I’m on my way. Yeah, Cas, he went for it.” Her eyes drifted sideways before locking back on the road. “I’ll be there soon.”

***

Ruby rolled her eyes as Dean asked “You’re absolutely sure that it’s him?” for the third time. They had been forging ahead with their plans to get Lucian  
Morgenstern and the Knights of Hell arrested and had sent Morgenstern’s middle child to do reconnaissance for them. 

“Look, my father has a lot of cops on his payroll, in a lot of places. There might be others, but I can promise you that Officer Jordan Uriel is the one keeping my father out of the radar of your little Podunk police force.”

Sam frowned, almost offended for Kathleen Hudak and Jody Mills; he might not like the law and the club might have run into trouble with the police women more times that he could count, but they did what they could for Freedom. Ruby’s sneer at their town rankled him more than anything. Ruby’s continued presence rankled him though, even more so than it seemed to Dean at the moment. Of course, he thought, Dean never slept with her so… 

“How are you gonna distract him without tipping him off?” the dark haired woman was asking. Her hands were on her hips and she looked at Dean as though he were dirt. He didn’t even bother to glance up when he said he didn’t know yet. 

“You got any ideas, college boy?” he asked, eyes darting to Sam. “Er, college boys.” The correction accompanied a look at Adam as well. Adam shook his head and Sam’s brows furrowed in concentration.

“None of us can do it,” Ruby said.

“You’re not part of us,” Sam intoned. Hurt flashed briefly in her eyes and amusement did in Dean’s. She was prevented from responding or going on when everyone’s attention shifted. Meg came striding into the bar. Bobby looked up from whatever it was he was reading to tell whoever had entered that the bar wasn’t open for lunch that day, but went back to the pile of papers on his lap when he saw who it was. 

“You know, this macho no girls allowed bullshit motorcycle clubs have going on really backfires on you,” Meg told them as she came further into the bar. Dean rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Let a man think he’s in charge and he’ll do whatever you want.”

“So it worked,” Sam asked without indicating that it was really a question at all. 

“He thinks having you sit down with him and my father will be a sign of his dominance.”

“And he didn’t seem suspicious at all?” Cas asked. Meg shook her head and dug the baggie Azazel had dropped out of her purse. She flung it to the table Sam and Dean and Ruby were surrounding. Cas tilted his head to show his concern. Meg’s gaze slid his way.

“He seemed more concerned with rattling me.” Sam picked up the bag. Catching Adam’s eye, he nodded toward the bathroom and Adam cottoned on quickly. 

“And he wants to do this now.”

“Who are we supposed to be sending?”

“The leader, obviously,” Ruby answered for her sister. Meg nodded. 

“And the real leader.” Meg spared Bobby a sideways glance before continuing. “Which doesn’t mean you, ironsides. It means‒”

“Dean. I ain’t dumb.”

“And Sam.” A number of the club members looked taken aback with that, but it was Sam himself to vocalize his confusion. 

“Why me?”

“You’re kidding right?” Meg arched her brow. Sam’s face told her that he didn’t appreciate her incredulity, but he didn’t say anything about it. Dean shrugged and moved the conversation.

“Alright. If he wants me and Sammy, then me and Sammy will go.”

“So Yellow-Eyes and the god damn Devil can wipe out both of the Winchester boys when the cops show up?” Rufus asked with a disbelieving shake of his head. Dean caught Gordon’s eye when he swiveled his head from where he’d twisted it to look at Rufus. Gordon shrugged in a conciliatory way slightly and Dean pursedhis lips in consideration.

“Man raises a fair point,” he said to Sam. Exasperation filled the younger Winchester’s face. Dean shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Or you’ll die,” Meg pointed out, not sounding incredibly distraught by it. Her tone changed when she continued. “And then so will I.” 

“Yeah, unfortunately for you and your sister, you’ve now got a vested interest in keeping us alive,” Gordon nodded. 

“I never wanted anyone to die, anyway,” Ruby muttered, so softly that only Sam heard it. Meg was tilting her heads to concede Gordon’s point.

“Then let’s figure out how to keep us all alive, shall we?”

Sam had a strong suspicion that it was going to be a long night and hoped Ellen wouldn’t mind how many customers they’d run off by being in the corner of her bar plotting. She never had before, but it seemed like a lot was changing and who knew how deeply that went.

***

The week was tense and full of phone calls, to Henriksen and to John, finally trying to keep him abreast of the situation, and to Azazel and to Lucian Morgenstern, the latter two made by his daughters. Ruby stared back defiantly at the suspicious side-eyes she continued to receive; even her sister looked at her askance, but with begrudging respect blossoming. Ruby wasn’t sure who was less inclined to believe that she was trying to help, but Meg being on her side mattered to her surprisingly. She, of course, didn’t tell a soul that, but Sam thought he saw a blush fight its way onto her cheeks when her sister’s eyebrows bounced up in approval after Ruby got done lying to their father. Sam, for all she had lied to him, knew Ruby, but more importantly, knew what it was to be a younger sibling. He still wasn’t going to let her talk to him about their relationship, which in his mind was nonexistent at that point. She didn’t push the point very hard, but with the way this plan was shaping up, Sam wondered if he should be talking about it since he wasn’t entirely sure he, or anyone in the club for that matter, would make it out still breathing.

Meg and Dean both seemed to acknowledge that fact more than anyone else did, at least that was the reason as far as Sam could tell that they found Meg attached to Cas’s hip at almost every moment they were working and neither could be found when they weren’t working. Dean dealt with it the way Dean dealt with most things, by hitting on nearly every woman who came into the Roadhouse and drinking far more whiskey than he ought to in the name of having a good time before he went. 

“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Jo told him two days before the sit down with the other organizations was supposed to happen. He was sitting outside, the same place she’d found him the night before that first run, and he had a cigarette in one hand and a tumbler of whiskey in the other. Jo wasn’t sure what drink number he was on, but when he looked up at her from where he sat, his eyes were clear and alert.

“I’m not.”

“You keep drinking as much as you are and then getting on your bike, you are.”

“Jo,” Dean began. Her mouth was set in a hard line, but the drumming her fingers were doing against her thigh gave her away. “I know it looks like I’ve been getting sloshed, but your mom’s been watering down my drinks all week.” Her eyebrows went up in surprise. “I’m not lookin’ to die yet.”

“Well, good. Okay then,” she stuttered out awkwardly. She shuffled her feet like she wasn’t sure what to do with her deflated anger. Dean continued to smoke and took a sip of his watered-down whiskey. “Since you seem to have this all figured out, I’m gonna go back inside then.”

“Okay.”

She waited a beat and then asked “You’re not gonna ask me to stay this time?” Dean turned and looked up at her over his shoulder. He took another puff of his cigarette, turned so he wouldn’t blow the smoke directly at her, and turned back, his face just as pretty as always and resigned.

“No.”

Jo’s jaw ticked when she nodded and she tried to turn and open the door as naturally as possible, but she felt her face heat up. Dean didn’t grimace until he knew he was out of her line of sight.

When he made his way back into the Roadhouse, he made a beeline for the table the club members were gathered around.

“So, we’re sure about how this is going to go down?” Ash asked as he sat down. Dean nodded. The table shifted tensely but no one commented on it.

“Well, we got two days to get our shit together.” Gordon let his statement sit for a moment. “We’ll ride tomorrow?” There was a collective pause where everyone refrained from looking at Bobby guiltily, but there wasn’t a one of them who didn’t feel that.

“You idjits better ride tomorrow,” Bobby said gruffly. Rufus met his friend’s eyes and gave a slow coming nod for the group. 

***

Dean and Sam shared a glance when they stopped their bikes in front of the supposedly neutral ground they were meeting. “At least it’s not a barn,” Sam said out of the side of his mouth to Dean as they approached the bar. Everyone knew that while it wasn’t as official as the Roadhouse was for the Wayward Sons, that it was frequented by the Knights of Hell. It was closed, under the guise of health inspections, but the Winchester brothers saw a golden bike and one painted with a ghastly white eyed skeleton and knew that Azazel and his sergeant at arms were there. Dean mumbled under his breath at the sight of Alistair’s bike, but he also breathed a sigh of relief; if he were there, he wasn’t one of the men anyone else in the club had to worry about. With another look between them, and not a word, Dean pushed open the door.

Dean was greeted by the barrel of a gun. Instead of crossing his eyes to look directly at it, he slid his view to see that it was Alistair holding the gun to his head. Azazel sat calmly at a table in the middle of the bar. Dean focused on him and not the armed man. 

“This how you start all your business meetings?” he asked, swallowing but trying to play it off. 

“Couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t come in guns blazing,” Azazel shrugged with a half-smile. He nodded at Alistair and the gun no longer pointed at Dean. Sam took his hand off the gun he had tucked into his waistband. Azazel kicked a chair out from the table and indicated that Sam and Dean should sit. 

“Where’s your boss?” Sam said as he lowered himself into a chair. Dean was doing the same next to him. 

“Don’t you mean our boss?” Alistair corrected in his nasal tone. Dean wondered why the hell it was him and not Talley at the meeting, but wouldn’t put it past Azazel to have Alistair there simply to annoy Dean and put him on edge. 

“I said what I meant.”

They sat in tense silence for a moment, Sam’s question going unanswered and Dean’s palms beginning to clam up. Alistair drummed his fingertips against the table and Dean itched to shoot him on principle of being obnoxious.

“You’re lucky we’re even here,” Dean finally said, breaking under the sound of Alistair’s drumming. “You killed one of our prospects.”

“And you put one of our members in the hospital.”

“You put our VP in a wheelchair.”

“Ah, well, I wasn’t even there so you can hardly blame me,” Azazel shrugged. “Besides, everyone knows you and Sammy are meant to be the leaders of your club.”

“No we’re not,” Sam shook his head. Azazel raised his eyebrows in contemptuous disbelief. Sam didn’t elaborate and let the two Knights wait anxiously this time. 

“Why did you agree to this meeting if you’re so bent out of shape about your prospect?” Alistair asked. Dean glared, hatred burning in his eyes when he responded.

“We didn’t have a lot of choice, did we?”

“You stole 20 grand from us,” Sam added. 

“And that means you’ll be moving extra product to make up for it.” The door had swung open without anyone noticing and Morgenstern had entered. He came by himself and stared at Azazel until the man moved from the head of the table. Lucian Morgenstern sat at the rickety table in the scuffed up plastic chair as though it were a throne. 

“Someone on your payroll stole money from another club on your payroll and that’s your response?” Dean spit. Morgenstern leveled his eyes at him coolly.

“I know how to run my business,” he said. Dean’s hand closed into a fist where it had been sitting on the table. Alistair smirked tauntingly at him. “I want all of you to put your guns on the table.” There was a beat of hesitation before he repeated the request with more of an edge to his voice. The club members slowly slid their guns to the middle of the table. Morgenstern nodded.

“Good. Now, Dean, pick your gun back up.” Dean let the tilt of his head ask the questions he had for him and Morgenstern smiled tightly and nodded. Dean reached forward and took a gun back. When he returned to his previous posture, Morgenstern spoke again. “Shoot him,” Morgenstern said nonchalantly with a nod at Alistair. Four heads snapped to look at the head of the table. Alistair scrambled out of his seat to reach for a gun.

Dean didn’t hesitate, and fired a single shot, hitting the Knight of Hell square in the chest. Azazel turned to stare at the man as he slumped down, bleeding. He began to protest and reach for his gun when Morgenstern cracked his own against the table before pointing it at him.

“Leave him. I can’t afford to have outliers doing business for me and he was a loose cannon. Killing any of the Wayward Sons was not part of my plan and he risked everything. So he can bleed to death in this bar and we can get down to business.”

“Holy fuck,” Sam breathed inaudibly. 

“Dean, put your gun back on the table.” Dean did and before Morgenstern could get them back to business his phone rang. “You’re kidding me,” he sighed before fishing it out of his pocket and answering. Azazel hadn’t stopped staring at his colleague, who hadn’t found the strength to move and was moments from dying.  
Dean was looking down at the table and Sam could practically hear his thought process.

“Fine, go. I won’t need you anyway, it looks like,” Morgenstern barked into the phone. “How many motorcycle gangs can be in one shithole town?” he asked rhetorically when he hung up. “Now, we need to discuss business.”

Morgenstern went on to say exactly how much extra product the Sons would move and explain to them that they’d continue to work for him. They’d put aside the rivalry they had with the Knights of Hell, since Dean had gotten to kill his counterpart and he needed both clubs to do his work. Sam and Dean nodded in agreement as did Azazel, though he looked much less happy than one would expect. Sam and Dean were barely paying attention to what they were agreeing too, both mentally following what must be happening outside the diner. If what Morgenstern had said on the phone was any indication, their plan was actually working. Dean wasn’t sure how he was going to get around the fact that there was a body across from him that had a bullet from a gun he’d fired lodged in its now stilled heart, but he couldn’t let himself be too concerned with that when they weren’t out of the clear of winding up the same way.

The women of The Fallen from East Texas must have found their way up to Freedom easily, and who knew what sort of distraction they were causing for the cops Morgenstern had on his team. The favors the Wayward Sons would have to do to pay them back probably wouldn’t land them in jail, so it was a risk they’d decided to take. Kathleen would be at the club house coordinating with the rest of the club and Henriksen and Jody would be setting up check points to catch Morgenstern and Azazel if Uriel had been lead away already. The goal was to get Morgenstern to keep talking and to get out of there without having to take the heroin with them. 

“Do we have a deal?” He was asking in a tone that said this was the final thing he would say. Dean tuned back just in time to hear him ask that and see Azazel nod. Sam looked over at Dean with an urgency in his eyes, telling Dean he ought to nod as well. Dean did. “Excellent. The product is outside. I’ll help you load‒”

“No,” Dean cut him off. Morgenstern looked shocked.

Sam explained for his brother, in a much more placating tone that Dean would have been able to manage. “Neither one of us,” he pointed between Dean and himself, “have bags on our bikes and we’re not about to drive through town with heroin strapped to our backs in the middle of the day. Not with the cops on us the way they have been.”

Morgenstern’s jaw ticked but Dean shrugged. “Hey, you asked for us. You didn’t tell us to come prepared to take anything, so we didn’t.”

“Well, that was on oversight on someone’s part then,” Morgenstern ground out between his teeth with a look at Azazel. Once Azazel’s grimace settled, Morgenstern turned back to Sam and Dean. “Fine, I’ll have my daughter arrange the supply.” He returned to addressing the Knights’s president. “I have product for you to move as well.”

Azazel nodded, cowed under Morgenstern’s tone. He glanced sideways. “What do you want to do about the body?”

“What do I care? He’s your club member.”

“We can get rid of it,” Dean said suddenly. Sam looked sharply at him. “Hey,” he started when Azazel gave him a suspicious glare. “I’d rather not go to prison for murder. It’s my bullet in him.”

“That’s settled then.” Morgenstern was standing up. “Gentlemen, we’ll be in touch.”

With a jerk of his head, he was walking out the door and Azazel was following him. Sam and Dean watched through the diner window as Azazel’s bike was loaded with half the heroin Morgenstern had in the back of his car and they both drove off.

“Holy shit.” Dean ran a hand down his face.

“Did that seem too easy?”

“Well considering we’re about to clean up a body, I’m gonna say ‘no,’ Sam.”

“Dean, that went almost exactly like we planned. I mean, yeah, you had to kill Alistair, but didn’t you kind of always wanna do that anyway?”

“Shut up and help me,” Dean scowled. His brother let out a small laugh. 

“When does anything just go according to plan for us?”

“Hey, it’s not over yet. Now come on, really, help me get rid of him.”

***

Lucian Morgenstern was looking down at his cell phone, trying to figure out why his man in the police force had called him three different times. The man clearly didn’t know when he was being ignored. He’d just moved to call him back when he finally glanced back to the road and then he understood.  
On the road in front of him was at least half a squadron of law enforcement agents; he saw Freedom Police and Kansas State cops and ATF; he was sure there were FBI and DEA agents waiting somewhere. He slid his gun out of his jacket and rolled the window down to aim at the black man in the ATF vest who was out in front of the rest, a megaphone to his mouth.

“Lucian Morgenstern,” he started and Morgenstern fired off enough shots to get the crowd scrambling. He was still too far away to have done any damage, but it sent them running for cover long enough. He slammed the steering wheel to the left and turned around. The SUV dipped into the grass off the road and he peeled out making a divot. He slammed his foot to the pedal and willed the truck to fly, getting it up to near 100 mph in seconds. He heard the police sirens behind him and wished for one of his men to be with him; stupid to listen to Ruby when she told him to go alone as to not raise suspicion and to show he needed no help in controlling the two clubs from a no importance town in Kansas. He was going to skin her alive if she’d let him find her. Morgenstern tried to shoot backwards, but it was useless.

When the motorcycle appeared next to him, seemingly from nowhere, he aimed at the man on it, completely missing. There was a gun in Cas’s hand and he didn’t bother to aim for Morgenstern, but stayed as steady as he could on his bike at triple digit speeds and aimed for the tires of the vehicle, finally landed a bullet.  


Cas hit his brakes, trying to lessen his speed before he braked completely and pulled to the side of the road, but Morgenstern knew he was caught and didn’t care about the safety of his car; he jerked the steering wheel to the left again and the SUV fishtailed dangerously. Cas aimed his bike and hit the shoulder, trying to stay upright on the lip of gravel. There was a moment of sheer panic, followed by one of prayer and thanks for good brakes and the bike went down. It landed on Cas, pipes burning hot through his leathers, and heavy. He was caught under it as it continued to skid. He heard something snap and felt a terrible pain in his leg to match the excruciating feeling in his shoulder, but through his helmet he could hear a further grinding of metal as Morgenstern’s SUV came to a halt with the rim sparking along the road.

Gordon heaved the bike off of Cas and yelled at him: “Can you move?” 

Morgenstern staggered out of his car and aimed his gun at the police officers getting out of theirs. Gordon turned from Cas for a moment and took aim, firing a few shots off, one into Morgenstern’s leg. The man fell, the bullet hitting the meat of his thigh and Agent Henriksen was running to him. He got there in the nick of time to pull the gun from his hand before he could fire. 

“Lucian Morgenstern, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent,” Henriksen was saying as he stood the blond man up. He showed no sympathy as Morgenstern winced and Henriksen continued to read him his Miranda rights as he frog-marched him to the car.  
Officer Hudak was approaching Cas and Gordon quickly. “Novak, can you move?”

Cas raised his one arm enough to show he could and saw Gordon’s shoulders sag a little in relief. 

“Call Bobby. And an ambulance,” Cas croaked out. Gordon did just that.

***

“Yeah?”

“It’s done,” it was Bobby’s gruff voice on the phone, sounding fairly chipper for a man stuck in a wheelchair who’d had to stay behind during one of the most important deals the club he was in charge of had ever had. “I watched Jody cuff Azazel and just got off the phone with Henriksen. That younger brother of yours is quick‒ ran up an kicked his legs out before he could get a hand on his gun. Lucifer’s in custody. We’re gonna have to head to the hospital, again, but either way, you’d better get your ass back here and bunker down for a storm.”

Dean hung up once Bobby had told him exactly what has happened, after he’d reassured him that it seemed like Cas would be fine, and had hung up himself. He smiled at Sam’s questioning face.

“I think we might have won."


	13. Epilogue: Born to Run

Dean had hauled some of his tools from the garage and was in the lot of Ellen’s Roadhouse checking the valves on his Dyna when Jo came out. He looked up and smiled at the grin on Jo’s face.

“You’re gonna wanna come inside,” she said with an encouraging nod.

“Why, you got something you wanna show me, Harvelle?”

Jo snorted and rolled her eyes. “Get your mind out of the gutter and come on.” She waited for Dean to get level with her after rolling up his tool sleeve before she started walking. Dean slung an arm around her shoulder and she shot him a mock put upon look. “What, you stop being afraid of my mother all of a sudden?”

“Hey, by now she’s gotta know we’ve slept together. Plus, I can just tell her you seduced me.” Dean laughed as Jo shoved him away from her playfully. 

“I know I’m not the only girl you’re sleeping with, Dean,” Jo said a little more seriously. Before he could ask, she went on and answered him. “I don’t care, in case you weren’t sure.”

He nodded at her, but didn’t say a word; she looked at him a little longer and then pulled the door open and he followed. The place seemed crowded to Dean after the period it seemed they’d practically shut Ellen down because of her association with them. There were a few months, after Garth’s death and the arrest of Lucian Morgenstern and most of the members of the Knights of Hell, that people seemed worried to be associated with the Wayward Sons Motorcycle Club and anyone close to them. Their little town had practically blown up overnight in the wake of the arrests. For a town that had once loved its MC, they were suddenly frightened; no one was unaware that there was a power vacuum caused by the arrests, and nearly everyone saw the injuries play out. It had been a turbulent few months and Freedom felt it, in minor subtle ways, but the crowd had been sparse in the Roadhouse for a while. It seemed that with the onset of spring, the frost people felt toward the club was thawing and they could return to their usual burger and beer haunt. They could nod at club members once again as well. Dean wondered when they would recognize that that turbulence they had caused was also helping keep the drugs out of the town.

“What is it I wanted to see?” Dean asked, but Jo just grinned over her shoulder and returned to her job, going into the back to get pretzels like her mother had asked before she had dipped outside to get Dean. He looked around and saw that the club was in a table near the corner, but he did a double-take. “Bobby?”  


Bobby, who had been wheelchair bound for nearly seven months, was teetering on his feet with the aid of a walker. The hatted man sat back down into the chair quickly, but turned to look at Dean. 

“Bout damn time you got in here. I can’t be doing that for very long, you know.”

Dean approached the table grinning and clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “That’s awesome, Bobby. Really.”

Bobby tried not to look pleased and failed. He played it off, saying “Now that we’re all here, why don’t we get this show on the road?” he gestured toward the back to show they ought to move to the clubhouse and the rest of the club members following his lead. Cas limped, only enough for someone who’d known him as long as the club had to notice, in the rear of the line. 

Bobby rolled himself to the head of the table; Dean hadn’t wanted the responsibility of the gavel yet, not with the heat that he was still expecting. He knew that no one was coming looking after Alistair, and that he and Sam had taken care of it and that he’d been sure to not even use his own gun when he’d shot the man, but it still felt like too much of a risk. Bobby being up for review had essentially been a formality. He banged the gavel down.

“Alright, first things first. We got a new shipment in from the women of St. Louis earlier this week. We need to be setting up buyers for those parts.”

“I’ve got a contact I can try. Hacker with a mechanical bend, name’s Charlie. I’ve heard she’s a good fence up through the Great Lakes. It’d keep us out of the plains, keep us from exhausting our buyers around here,” Sam nodded to the group.

“Seriously, there’s only so many parts Chuck or Sonny can push,” Ash agreed. “New blood’ll be good.”

“Talk to Chuck and Sonny too though, see if they can’t take anything else. Don’t wanna put too many eggs in a new basket.” Bobby considered and advised. Two months ago Sam would have felt the sting from those words, thought that they were a comment on the mess he’d let Ruby get them into, but now he took it in stride. Business was business and they needed to handle theirs. “Next, where’s the case against Morgenstern and the Knights at? Anything new?”

“No,” Sam shook his head.

“That’s not true,” Cas said hesitantly. Every head looked at him and he felt a sense of deja-vu. “Ruby’s apparently agreed to testify against her father.” Sam felt a few glances dart to him and return to Cas in attempts to play them off. He kept his face impassive; he’d have to talk to her, but he’d wait to see if she went through with it. She’d backed off, staying far away from the club, but they all knew that Meg told her things that seemed safe to tell her. Meg also told Sam things she thought her sister might want him to hear, mostly about how much worse she seemed without him and how she’d risked a lot to throw over their father, even more than Meg had. Dean scoffed at that, and Sam was inclined to agree, but if she were willing to take the stand against Morgenstern, she might deserve a chance‒ a small one, but a chance nonetheless. “There haven’t been a lot of other people from his organization willing to so it could make the prosecution’s case.”

“Good,” Gordon said. “If he’s in jail he can’t kill us.”

“Nothing different on the Knights though?”

“Like what?” Rufus laughed. “One of them recanting selling each other out?”

“Azazel hasn’t come forward with any accusations about a missing sergeant of arms?” Dean asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Not that any of us have heard,” Gordon said again. “He’s just…gone.” Gordon caught his friend’s eye and held the look for a moment before turning back to Bobby. Dean’s gratitude and slight amusement shone through in a flicker before he turned as well.

“Alright. Then onto new business. We got a call from Mara Daniels a little earlier. About John’s parole hearing.” Everyone around the table straightened up, but no one more than John Winchester’s sons. “She also told us there was no way to move up the dates for Caleb’s or Jim’s hearings. We didn’t bargain for that‒ and no one’s blaming you, Dean.”

Dean nodded in thanks for the acknowledgment but said with a frown. “I’ve been in an interrogation room before, though, I should have thought of it.”

“There was a good chance Henriksen wouldn’t have done squat anyway. They’re not serving too long and you had to keep yourself out of jail,” Bobby reassured him.

“They’re not mad at you,” Rufus added. Dean was more inclined to believe him than he was Bobby at this point; he wasn’t dwelling on it either way, not now.

“How’d his hearing go?” Sam asked.

Bobby couldn’t keep the grin off his face and it was contagious, circling around and hitting everyone at the table. “He’ll be home in less than a week. And I can stop banging this damn gavel around and give it back to its rightful owner.”

“You’ve been a good president, old man,” Ash said. Bobby nodded in acceptance of the sentiment and compliment.

“But this is my last meeting acting as such. And I’ve got one more thing to oversee.” One set of eyes at the end of the table perked up, but everyone else knew what was coming. Bobby’s face fell to a much more solemn expression and he hefted the gavel as though it were a weight insurmountable to human arms. He knocked it against the table once and met Adam’s eyes. “Adam Milligan, it’s been 11 months since you joined the Wayward Sons Motorcycle Club of Freedom, Kansas as a prospective member.”

Adam nodded at the look Bobby wore. “Yes, sir, that’s correct.”

“I know it is, boy; I just gotta say it.”

Dean snickered, muffling it and trying to turn it to a cough and Adam swallowed and nodded without saying anything.

“We as active members of the club met before this day and have decided whether you’ve proven yourself to be a worthy member. We need you to remove your cut and place it on the table.”

Adam’s face didn’t hide anything, it shattered. His eyes searched for Dean’s and when he found no response there, he moved to Sam’s. Sam wore the same expression his older brother did. Adam tightened his mouth into a bloodless line, trying to get himself under control, but he wanted to glare at Sam when he saw from the corner of his eye that the taller man was standing up and moving to one end of the room. Adam stared at black leather and patches that proclaimed him a prospect as he laid it on the table. There was a shadow falling over it and he looked up. 

Sam stood there and broke into a grin. He tossed something down onto the leather. It was a knife crossed with a gun overlayed with a sigiled pentagram‒ the insignia patch of a full member. Adam’s eyebrows rose in shock.

“Congratulations, kid,” Bobby was saying. “You’re now a full member of the Wayward Sons Motorcycle Club of Freedom, Kansas.”

Adam let go of the breath he’d been holding trying to remain emotionless and felt Sam’s hand clap him on the shoulder. The rest of the club pounded the table and Adam allowed himself to really laugh, barely holding back a whoop of happiness. Bobby banged the gavel down again and was grinning.

“Alright, alright, ya idjits. If there’s nothing else,” he paused and took a final look around the table, “then this meeting is adjourned.”

“Come on, man,” Dean said, getting up and clapping Adam on the shoulder the same way Sam had. “Get those patches sewn on and we’ll celebrate.”

“You don’t think it’s a little early to be drinking?” Adam asked incredulously. Gordon laughed, as did Ash.

“Not drinking,” Cas assured. Adam cocked an eyebrow.

“How else do bikers celebrate?” Dean asked rhetorically. He dangled his bike keys in front of Adam’s face and grinned like a child. The atmosphere in the room was lighter than it had felt in months, even though nothing was certain still. They weren’t totally out of the clear money-wise, and they certainly hadn’t stopped their illegal activity, and none of them knew exactly what John’s limitations would be as a parolee, not to mention the fact that their VP was still in a wheelchair, but they’d seen much worse days. Sam shoved a knife at Adam so he could cut off his prospect rocker and then handed him a needle and thread. Adam painstakingly sewed the patches on, as neat as possible and slipped the cut back on. The rest of the members looked at him with varying levels of pride.

“Thank god,” Dean mocked. Adam flipped him off. “Now, let’s ride.”

The late April sunshine of the Kansas plains warmed their leathers as they fired up their engines and rode through Freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! I hope you enjoyed this story- if you did (or if you didn't even), let me know your thoughts if you feel so inclined. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few townships in Kansas named Freedom, but this isn't them. This is a purely fictional town that is about where Winchester, KS is. Leavenworth is indeed a real prison that’s an hour away or so


End file.
